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Unibersitp of i^ortfj Carolina 




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in 2012 with funding from 

University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 



Illustrated Magazine 

For Young Folks 



Part II., May, 1893, to October, 1893. 



Copyright, 1893, by The Century Co. 

The De Vinne Press. 

library, Univ. of 
North Cmrolm* 




Six Months — May, 1893, TO October, 1893. 




Abijah's Fourth of July. Verges. (Illustrated by the Author) Jack Bennett 673 

American Citizen, An. (Illustrated by Otto W. Beck) Marian Ge/iring 692 

Apple of Arabia's Eye, The. (Illustrated by H. A. Ogden) Dinah Sharpe 623 

Baby Lion and the Doll, The. Picture, drawn by E. W. Kerable 491 

Baltimore. (Illustrated by H. Fenn) D. C. Gilman 723 

Bear and his Coat, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by A. R. Wheelan) John Kendrick Bangs 703 

Beaver's Home, The. (Illustrated by the Author) Tappan Adney 608 

Bessie's Bonfire. (Illustrated by G. B. Fox) Helen B. Dole 947 

Bobolink. Poem. (Illustrated) Clinton Scollard 836 

Boyhood of Edison, The. (Illustrated from photographs) Lida Rose McCabe 761 

Boy's Visit to Chief Joseph, A. (Illustrated from photographs) Erskine Wood 815 

Brave Hussar, The. Poem. (Illustrated by G. Wright) Jennie E. T. Dowe 921 

BURROS. (Illustrated from photographs) Charles G. Morton 808 

By the Sea in August Weather. Picture, drawn by W. H. Drake 869 

Caliph and the Cadi, The. Poem. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Tudor Jenks 856 

Cattails and the Common Cur, The. Pictures, drawn by P. Newell 681 

Chicago. (Illustrated by F. Cresson Schell, V. Perard, and others) John E. Ballantyne 658 

Children's Building at the Columbian Exposition, The. (Illus- ) 

trated by F. Cresson Schell) \ Clara Doty Bates 7,4 

Children's Sunny Back Porch, The. From a photograph 631 

City of Groves and Bowers, A. (Illustrated by H. Fenn, Louis Loeb, ) 

and F. Cresson Schell) \Frances Hodgson Burnett 563 

City Series. (Illustrated.) 

A City of Groves and Bowers Frances Hodgson Burnett 563 

The City of Washington Hon. Henry Cabot Lodge 572 

Chicago John F. Ballantyne 658 

Baltimore D. C. Gilman 723 

Columbus at La Rabida. (Illustrated by H. Fenn, from a photograph) . .John M. Ellicott 509 

Columbus, Tomb of. (See Santo Domingo.) 

Cricket Kept the House, The. Poem Edith M. Thomas 901 

Crown-Prince of Siam, The. (Illustrated from photographs) Hon'. Isaac Townsend Smith . . 751 

Dark Career, A. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) Oliver Herford 774 

jj Deceitful Dormice, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Oliver Herford 591 

j Dee and Jay. (Illustrated by H. A. Ogden and C. T. Hill) Alice Balch Abbot 830 

cl Edison, The Boyhood of. (Illustrated from photographs) Lida Rose McCabe 761 

tf Eve of the Fourth, The. (Illustrated by G. Wright) Harold Frederic 644 

— Fair Exchange, A. Verses. (Illustrated by Louis Loeb) Gertrude Halliday 749 



Far in the Woods in May. Poem Edith M. Thomas 546 

Festival Days at Girls' Colleges. (Illustrated by H. Fenn, V. Petard, \ 

and from photographs) S ' '" 

Fidgety Nan. Verses. (Engrossed and illustrated by R. B. Birch) Adele M. Hayward 937 

Fool and the Little Court Lady, The. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch). Virginia Woodward Cloud .... 812 

Forgetful Forget-me-not, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) . . Oliver Hcrford 775 

Frank Pinkham, Reporter. (Illustrated by Julian O. Davidson) John Z. Rogers 616 

Fritz, The Master Fiddler. (Illustrated by the Author) John Bennett 939 

Girls' Colleges, Festival Days at. (Illustrated by H. Fenn, V. Perard, ) „, „ 

, , ' , , v ' \ Grace IV. Soper 682 

and from photographs) ) * 

Hakluyt's "VoY'AGES," From. (Illustrated by Meredith Nugent) Florence Walters Snedeker . . . 627 

776, 859 

How Bert Killed a Jaguar. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) Herbert II. Smith 494 

How the Leopard Changed his Spots. Jingle Malcolm Douglas 499 

Inanimate Things Animated. Pictures, drawn by P. Newell 634, 635, 716 

Inland Voyage, An. Picture, drawn by Mary Hallock Foote 773 

Jingles 499, 615, 703 

King's Test, The. Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 596 

Kitchen-Garden Conversation, A. Verses. ( Illustrated by A. R. Wheelan) Felix Leigh 655 

Little Bear of Cazadero, The. (Illustrated from a photograph) Charles Howard Shinn 792 

Little Elf, The. Verses. (Illustrated) John Kendrick Bangs 842 

Little Peter and the Big Horn. Pictures, drawn by P. Newell 747 

Magic Glasses, The. (Illustrated by Laura C. Hills) Julia £>. Cowles 554 

May Morning in Venice, A. Poem. (Illustrated) Helen Gray Cone 517 

May-time in the Country. Picture, drawn by Mary Hallock Foote . 529 

Mistress Peggy Comes to Town, When. Poem. (Illustrated by R. B. ) 

,,• , i X Virginia Woodward Cloud .... 501 

Monkey-Moke, The Story of. (Illustrated by Dan Beard) Poidtncy Bigelow 548 

Montresa to San Mateo, From. (Illustrated by W. Taber) E. Vinton Blake 767 

Music-Mad. Verses. (Illustrated by C T. Hill) Josephine Pollard 711 

Night Encounter, A. (Illustrated by W. Taber) .... Charles G. D. Roberts 803 

Night with the Poachers, A. (Illustrated by the Author) Tappan Adney 512 

Noshi and the Morning-Glory. Verses. (Illustrated by Jules Turcas) .Mary McA T . Scott 922 

Old Woman Who Sweeps, The. A Dutch Child-song. (Illustrated by \ 

Albertine Randall Wheelan) \ S ' 2 

On the Lagoon. Verse. (Illustrated by Otto Beck) Joel Stacy 815 

On the Sea Beach. Picture, drawn by W. A. Rogers 758 

Orchard on the Hill, The. (Illustrated by Louis Loeb) Maurice Thompson 900 

Outwitting a Shark. (Illustrated by M. J. Burns) Theodore Ackerman 759 

Page of Spiders, A. (Illustrated) E. W. W 796 

Pictures 491, 529, 626, 631, 634, 635, 681, 716, 734, 747, 75S, 773, 854, 878, 946 

Pine-Knots versus Pistols. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) O. W. Blacknall 935 

Poet's Narcissus. (Illustrated ) Mrs. R. Swain Gifford 546 

Polly Oliver's Problem. (Illustrated by Irving R. Wiles) Kate Douglas Wiggin 502 

Prince's Councilors, The. (Illustrated by Dan Beard) Tudor Jenks 892 

Pulse and the Temperature, The IV. S. Hanoood 855 

Pussy-Cat Bird, The. Verse Clinton Scollard 912 

Queer Things About Frogs. (Illustrated by Meredith Nugent) Harold W. Chamberlain .... 837 

Racoon and the Rabbit, The. (Illustrated by the Author) Peter Newell 756 

Rain. Poem Clinton Scollard 691 

Ride in Central Park, A. Picture, drawn by Guy Rose 626 

Runaway, The. Verses. (Illustrated by Albertine Randall Wheelan) Nell K. McElhone 757 

Running For Life. (Illustrated by Irving R. Wiles) Caroline M. Parker ... 955 

Saidie's Flowers. Verses Lida C. Tulloch 692 

Sailor Fred. Verses. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) Robert Richardson 954 

Santo Domingo and the Tomb of Columbus. (Illustrated by J. A. ) £ . „ „ 

Fraser and C. S. Vandevort, from photographs) i 

photographs) . 
Taber, and others) 

Secrets of Snake-Charming, The. (Illustrated by Irving R. Wiles, W. ? 

V ' S \ G. R. O'Reilly 538 



September. Picture, drawn by Lizbeth B. Comins 878 

Seventh Son, A. (Illustrated by H. Helmick and C. T. Hill) Margaret Johan 928 

Ship's Colors, The. Poem. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) Helen Gray Cone 643 

Short and Sweet. Verses. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) Abbie Farwell Brown 537 

Snake-Charming, The Secrets of. (Illustrated by Irvine R. Wiles, W. , 

Taber, and others) \g.R. O'Reilly 538 

Spiders, A Page of. (Illustrated) E. W. W 796 

Spin Out to Sea, A. Picture, by Julian O. Davidson 854 

Springtime Holiday. Poem. (Illustrated by Louis Loeb) Maurice Thompson 492 

Stars and Stripes, The. (Illustrated by F. Cresson Schell and others) . . .Henry Russell Wray 864 

" St. Nicholas " at the Fair. Illustrated from a photograph 790 

Stormy Petrel, The. (Illustrated by Meredith Nugent) Capt. H. D. Smith 794 

Story of a Grain of Wheat, The. (Illustrated by T. Moran, H. Fenn, \ 

W. H. Drake, and C. S. Vandevort, from photographs) \W. S. Hai-wood 883 

Story of Monkey-Moke, The. (Illustrated by Dan Beard) Poultney Bigelow 548 

Summer Garden, A. Verses. (Illustrated and engrossed by George Wright) Elizabeth Chase 782 

Theater Hat, Her. Jingle. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Malcolm Doug/as 615 

Their Little Jar. Pictures, drawn by E. Hamilton Bell 734 

THOUGHTS. Poem Thomas Tapper 869 

Through a Snow-drift. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) William Archibald McClean . . 848 

Tinman, The. Poem. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) Marian Douglas 547 

Toinette's Philip. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Mrs. C. V. Jamison 483 

582, 674, 737, S42 

Tom Trawley's Start in Life. (Illustrated by M. J. Burns) W. J. Henderson 820 

To our Readers Old and New The Editor 876 

Trusty Guardian, A. (Illustrated by H. A. Ogden) C. F. Amery 956 

Twilight Town. Poem Maud R. Burton 863 

Two Bells. (Illustrated by M. J. Burns) Tudor Jenks 944 

Vacation Rhyme, A. Poem. (Illustrated) Anna M. Pratt 5S1 

Very Little Folks. 

A Tired Little Mother. (Illustrated from a painting by V. Tojetti) Laura E. Richards 952 

Vesuvius, The. (Illustrated by the Author) Julian O. Davidson 592 

Viking Ship, The. (Illustrated by the Author) Julian O. Davidson 745 

" Wanted — A New Umbrella." Picture, drawn by E. W. Kemble 946 

Washington. "A City of Groves and Bowers." (Illustrated by H. Fenn, \ 

Louis Loeb, and F. Cresson Schell) \ Fmnces Hod S son Burnett =63 

Washington, The City of. (Illustrated by H. Fenn, F. Cresson Schell, \ 

and others) <> Ho ' u Henr y Cabot Lod S e 572 

Watering the Flowers. Verses. (Illustrated by J. H. Hatfield) Thomas Tapper 736 

Waterspouts at Sea. (Illustrated by the Author) . .Julian O. Davidson 656 

Way Things Vanish, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) Elizabeth Chase 938 

Weather-map of the Ocean, The. (Illustrated) E. W. Sturdy 619 

When Mistress Peggy Comes to Town. Poem. (Illustrated bv R. B. ) 

p. , , c Virginia Woodward Cloud .... 501 

When My Ship Comes In. Poem. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) Mary J. Farrah, LL.A 750 

When Timmie Died. Verses Alice Katharine Fallows 599 

WHITE Cave, The. (Illustrated by W. Taber) William O. Stoddard 530 

600, 704, 783,851,923 

Wind-broom, The. Poem Richard Burton 600 

Wise Man, The. Verses John Kendrick Bangs 748 

World's Fair Palaces, The. (Illustrated) Tudor Jenks 519 


"When Mistress Peggy Comes to Town," by R. B. Birch, facing Title-page of Volume — " Easter Egg-rolling, 
on the Grounds of the White House, Washington," by Louis Loeb, page 562 — "The Ship's Colors," by W. H. 


Drake, page 642 — " Edison as a Boy, " from a photograph, page 722 — " Wide Awake ! " by J. H. Dolph, page 802 - 
"An Oriental Sentinel," from the painting by G. Clairin, page 8S2. 


Jack-in-the-Pulpit. (Illustrated.) 

. Introduction — A Lazy Wasp — A Bold Violet — A Sociable Party (illustrated), 552; Introduction — A Par- 
doned Thief — A Blunder Somewhere — Big Bubbles — About Spiders — A Silken Buoy (illustrated) — A 
Curious Nightcap (illustrated), 632 ; Introduction — The Fourth of July — Four Brothers — Intelligent Emi- 
grants — Chivalrous Pigs — The Angel-fish of Bermuda (illustrated) — A Notice, 713; Introduction — Those 
Hardy Mosquitos — A Well-spelled Tale — Sound versus Sense — Good Scholars Please Answer — Uses for 
the Banana — A Hawaiian Tortoise (illustrated), 870; Introduction — Chinese Music — A Chivalrous Pig — 
The Horse and the Ant — Little Jumbo (illustrated by Meredith Nugent), 950. 

The Letter-box. (Illustrated) 556, 636, 717, 797, 877, 957 

The Riddle-box. (Illustrated) 559, 639, 719, 799, 879, 959 

Editorial Notes S76, 957 


y% * "V- 


(SEE PAGE 5O0.) 


Vol. XX. 

MAY, 1893. 

No. 7. 

Copyright, 1893, by The Centi'ry Co. All rights reserved. 


By Mrs. C. V. Jamison. 

AittJwr of "Lady Jane" 

Chapter I. 


One sunny morning early in March, two 
children, a boy and a girl, followed by a large 
shaggy dog, slowly sauntered up Rue Royale 
in the French quarter of New Orleans. The 
boy was about nine years old, the girl not more 
than eight, the dog — no one could tell his age 
with any degree of certainty, but he was no 
longer young, for the gray hairs about his 
muzzle, and his long, hollow flanks, plainly 
showed that he had seen many and evil days. 
He was of the breed commonly called " wolf," 
his body was covered with coarse, bristling hair, 
and his long nose and pointed, alert ears gave 
him an intelligent and inquisitive look in spite 
of his drooping tail and spiritless walk. With- 
out looking to the right or left he followed 
closely on the heels of the children, occasionally 
sniffing at a bag which hung over the boy's 
shoulder. When they slackened their pace to 
glance into a shop window, or to make room 
for a passer, the dog also stopped and eyed 
the bag wistfully, a few drops of water now and 
then falling from his mouth on the pavement. 

The boy, from time to time, glanced down at 

the patient creature smilingly, while he reached 
out a thin brown hand to pat his head fondly. 

" ' Homo ' smells my lunch. It 's no use, I 
must stop and give him some," he said at last, 
placing on a door-step near him a tray of flow- 
ers which he had been carefully carrying. 

He was a handsome boy, lithe and slim, and 
tall for his age, with large blue eyes of a merry 
cast, straight, clear-cut features, and curling 
brown hair. He was cleanly but poorly clad in 
a blue shirt and short trousers of the same color; 
a small white cap covered a portion of his thick 
hair which lay in heavy rings over his forehead, 
just above his straight, dark eyebrows. The 
little girl who accompanied him was an uncom- 
mon and picturesque figure. A dark-red frock 
fell straight to her heels; a white muslin scarf, 
crossed in front, was tied behind, the long ends 
almost touching the pavement when she walked ; 
her very thick black hair was cut off square, like 
a mane over her shoulders, and was partially 
covered by a red silk kerchief knotted under 
her chin ; her little, worn, prematurely old face 
was as white and delicate as a Roman cameo ; 
her eyes, unnaturally large, were intensely dark, 
so dark that they showed through her drooping 
lids, and her small, firmly closed mouth seemed 


4 8 4 



never to have smiled. On her arm she carried 
a basket in which, carefully packed in soft 
paper, were several little colored wax-figures, 
delicately and beautifully modeled. One was 
" Esmeralda and her Goat," another " Dea and 
the Wolf," another " Quasimodo " — in short, 
they all represented characters taken from the 
stories of Victor Hugo. That they were of 
almost sacred value to the child was apparent 
in the careful way she carried them, and the 
occasional glance of pride and solicitude she 
bestowed upon them. 

When the boy stopped and put down his 
tray of flowers — orange-blossoms, roses, and vio- 
lets, she, too, stopped and placed her basket on 
the steps, drawing, as she did so, a thick paper 
over the little figures to shield them from the 
sun and dust. 

After the boy's hands were free he proceeded 
to unfasten the bag, smiling all the time at the 
old dog who pressed close to him, his sunken 
eyes full of expectation. 

" Don't be in a hurry, Homo, don't be in a 
hurry," he said gently. "You shall have your 
breakfast. I made Mammy Toinette put in 
plenty of bread. I knew you 'd be hungry ; I 
knew you would." 

The little girl, with her hands tightly clasped, 
stood looking on almost as anxiously as the 
dog. Suddenly the boy fixed his eyes on her 
inquiringly, and his face flushed to his fore- 
head. " Did you have anything to eat before 
you came out, Dea ? — Now, tell me the truth, did 
you ? " he asked earnestly. 

The child turned paler if possible, and looked 
away evasively, but made no reply. 

" Tell me now, Dea, quick. I sha'n't give 
Homo a mouthful till you tell me." 

" I did n't want anything to eat, Philip," she 
said tremulously. " Pauv' papa* had one of his 
bad spells." 

" And you did n't sleep any last night. I 
can tell by your looks that you did n't." 

" Not much," she replied, sighing ; "pauv' 
papa walked all night. I think he was in pain. 
I could n't sleep when he was suffering." 

" You could n't, of course," said the boy, 
soothingly. " But never mind now, Dea. Eat 
some breakfast and give Homo some. You 

like mammy's fried chicken, and I 've enough 
for all of us." 

And as the boy spoke, he unfolded a clean 
white napkin and displayed some squares of 
corn-bread, and a quantity of chicken fried crisp 
and brown. " Take all you want," and he held 
it out invitingly. 

" I '11 give some to Homo," said the girl, 
taking a piece of the chicken with the tips of 
her slender fingers and offering it to the old 
dog, who swallowed it without the least attempt 
to chew it, sighing contentedly as he did so. 

While the girl and the dog were eating, the 
boy uncovered the basket, and taking out one 
by one the small figures, looked at them admir- 
ingly, turning them to blow off an occasional 
speck of dust. 

" They 're as natural as life, Dea," he said 
encouragingly. " I hope you '11 sell one to- 
day. You have n't sold one since Mardi Gras, 
have you ? It must be the rainy weather that 
has kept people out of the streets; but now it 's 
cleared off, Rue Royale will be full of strangers, 
and you '11 be sure to sell one to-day." 

" Oh, I hope so, Philip, for pauv' papa's 
sake," replied the girl, as she gave her last 
crumb of bread to the dog ; " he has n't any 
money, and he 's so unhappy when he has n't 
any money." Then she covered her face with 
her hands and began to cry silently. 

" Don't, Dea, don't cry! " said the boy gently, 
as he took up his tray of flowers and the child's 
basket as well. " Come on, let 's hurry. Grande 
Seline will be back to-day, and she 's sure to 
bring you something." 

" But if she is n't there, Philip, what shall I 
do ? Pauv' papa had no supper last night, and 
there 's no breakfast for him this morning. I 
ought to have taken him the bread and chicken 
you gave me. Homo and I could have waited. 
I was n't so hungry, because I had your lunch 
yesterday. Now it 's gone ; we have eaten it, 
and pauv' papa has n't any." 

" Take the rest of my lunch, Dea," said the 
boy stoutly. " I don't want it; I can wait till 
night. Mammy Toinette promised me gumbo 
for supper." 

The little girl smiled faintly through her tears 
as she trotted on beside her friend, who still 

' Pauvre papa , poor papa. Used affectionately and pityingly. 




Chapter II. 


carried her basket. " Gumbo ! how nice to 
have gumbo for supper," she said with a soft 

" Yes, it 's good, with plenty of rice," replied " Oh, there 's Grande Seline ! " cried Philip, 
her companion ; " and mammy would give you joyfully, as they drew near the old Union Bank 
some if you 'd go home with me." not far from Canal street. "She 's setting up 

'• I can't, Philip; papa would be angry. He her stand now." 

never allows me to go into any house, and he 
never has any one to visit him." 

" That 's why he has 
no money and does n't 
sell more little images," 
returned the boy with 
some show of anger. ''If 
he made friends, you 
would not have to go 

" Pauv' papa," sighed 
the child, " he 's so ill 
and unhappy. He cried 
when he put Quasimodo 
in the basket ; he said 
it was the best figure 
he had ever modeled — 
that it was a work of art 
and worth a great deal." 

" A work of art ! " re- 
peated the boy scorn- 
fully. " It 's not half as 
pretty as Esmeralda and 
her goat. It 's an ugly, 
crooked little monster ! " 

" Well, Quasimodo 
was like that," returned 
Dea with some spirit. 
" Papa has often read to 

me about him ; he was Carillomieur * of the 
great cathedral Notre Dame de Paris." 

" Yes, there she is," exclaimed Dea, starting 
into a swift run toward a stout, laughing mulat- 


" Oh, yes, I know," said Philip, " you 've 
told me all about him, don't you remember? 
But I like Esmeralda best. I 'm sure you '11 
sell Esmeralda first." 

'• I hope so; pauv' papa said that I must sell 
something to-day. If I don't, Philip, I 'm sure 
he will walk again to-night." 

" Well, let 's hurry then," cried Philip, quick- 
ening his steps. ' : If Grande Seline is there, 
she '11 help us to find a customer ; and she 
promised to be there to-day." 

* Bell-ringer, one who plays the chimes 

tress who was standing near a table under the 
portico of the bank, tying a white apron around 
her thick waist. 

" Oh, honey ! " she gurgled as she clasped the 
child tight, " oh, honey, how glad I is ter see 
yer, an' Mars' Philip, too ! How you 's both 
done growed since I 's been gone." 

"And how thin you 've grown. Seline," 
replied Philip, his blue eyes sparking with mer- 
riment. " You 've lost flesh going to the coun- 
try to your cousin's wedding." 

" My, my, jes' hear dat boy ! Do yer think 
I 's slimmer, Ma'mselle Dea ? " and she looked 




complacently at her fat sides as she smoothed 
the folds of her starched apron. " An' what 's 
you chil'run been er-doin' all dis yere time 
dat I 's been away ? An' how 's yer pauv' 
papa, Ma'mselle ? " 

'• He 's very bad, Seline ; he does n't sleep," 
returned Dea, sighing sadly. 

" My, my, honey, I 's sorry ter hear sech bad 
newses ! " said Seline, with sympathy. "An' is 
yer done sole any yer little images while I 's 
gone ter der weddin' ? " 

" No, Seline, not one. Pain'' papa 's finished 
Quasimodo ; I 've got him in my basket. I 'm 
to sell him for five dollars." 

" Well, honey, ef yer want ter sell him yer 
got ter stan' him out where people '11 see him ; 
't ain't no use ter keep him covered up in yer 
basket. I 'm goin' ter give yer a corner of my 
table," and Grande Seline swept aside her pile 
of fruits and cakes, smiling benevolently as she 
did so. 

" But the dust, Seline ; papa does n't like them 
to get dusty." 

" Never mind der dust, chile ; it '11 blow off. 
It 's der money we want ; but I don't see how 
yer goin' ter sell dat pore little crooked image ! " 
and Seline looked doubtfully at the work of art 
as Dea disencumbered it of its wrappings, and 
stood it as far away as possible from a generous 
pile of pralines. " Now, dat little one with the 
goat is right peart-lookin', an' it 's strange yer 
don't sell it." 

" You see, it 's rained ever since you went 
away, Seline, and there 's been no strangers in 
the streets," said Philip, coming forward to 
move Quasimodo a little more into the shadow 
of one of the fluted columns that decorate the 
facade of the old bank. " If it had n't been for 
funerals and weddings, mammy would n't have 
sold any flowers. I 've been here every day 
since you went to the country, and I have n't 
sold a dozen boutonnikres" 

" Dat 's 'cause yer did n't have my table ter 
show yer flowers on, Mars' Philip. No one 
don't notice little cre'tur's like you is. It takes 
an ole woman like I is ter get customers," said 
Grande Seline, chuckling and shaking her fat 
sides, as she arranged Philip's flowers and 
sprinkled them lightly from a can of water. 
"An' dat ole dog, too, he knows I 's back; he 's 

done tuck his same place under dis yere table. 
Jes' look at de pore cretur ; he 's ter home, 
shore ! " 

" Yes, Homo 's glad you 're back, Seline, and 
so are we," said Philip, leaning over the table 
and smiling up into the kind dusky face. " I 
don't know which of us has missed you most, 
but I think Dea has." 

" Pore chile ! " and the old woman glanced 
fondly at the little girl. " I 's thought heaps 
about yer boaf, and I 's glad I 's back. Yer 
ain't had yer scarf washed since I 's gone, is 
yer, honey ? Well, jes' slip it off when yer go 
home, an' I '11 bring it ter yer clean in der 
mawnin'. An' see what I got in my basket fer 
yer supper ter-night," making a little panto- 
mime to Philip as she took out a package 
folded in a clean napkin. "A half a chicken 
I done brought from de country, some flour 
bread, an' a slice of dat cheese yer pain? papa 
likes ; an' jes' look at dis yere, chil'run, some of 
der weddin'-cake fer yer ! It 's fine cake ! dat 
cousin knows how ter make cake; her ole Miss' 
learned her. Now, ain't dat dar pretty cake as 
yer ever seed ? " 

" Oh, oh, Seline, is n't it nice ? " cried both 
children at once, " and the sugar on it is so 
thick and white." 

" Now, you jes' eat some," she said, handing 
a generous slice to each ; " an' dis what 's left is 
part fer yer pauv' papa, mam'selle, an' part fer 
yer mammy, Mars' Philip." 

" Why, Seline, you 're awful good," cried the 
boy, his mouth full of cake. " I told Dea you 'd 
bring us something from the country." 

" May I keep half of mine for to-morrow, 
Seline ? " asked Dea when she had slowly eaten 
a part of hers. 

" Why, yes, chile, if yer wants ter. An' jes' 
take dis yere bundle of chicken an' put it in der 
bottom of yer basket fer yer supper." 

Dea took the package with trembling hands 
and glistening eyes. " Oh, Seline, how good 
you are ! Aw' papa will be so glad," she 

" Yes, I know, honey, I know; an' I 'm goin' 
to sell one of dem little images fer yer papa dis 
yere day, er my name ain't Seline. I ain't been 
right yere in dis place since endurin' der war fer 
nothin'. My ole mars' what was pres'dent of 

I8 93 -] 



dis bank, — yer see, chil'run, it use' ter be a bank 
full of money afore der war, — he done tole me I 
could set up my stan' yere. He say, ' Seline, 
you '11 make yer fortune yere.' Well, I ain't 
made no fortune, but I 's done made right 
smart, an' now I 's got plenty to do a little fer 
you, honey, what ain't got no ma, only a pauv 1 
sick papa ; so I 's goin' ter help yer sell yer little 
images. Yer tired an' sleepy, chile ; jes' drap 
down on my little stool, an' take a nap in der 
shade, an' I '11 look out fer customers." 

Dea did not wait for a second invitation to 
sleep ; her poor little head ached, and her eyes 
were heavy from her night's vigils, so she sank 
down contentedly in Seline's broad shadow, and, 
resting her pale face against the good woman's 
clean apron, she slept as peacefully as did the 
old dog at her feet ; and Philip, perched on 
the base of one of the massive columns, swung 
his bare brown legs and whistled softly, while he 
waited for the customer promised by Seline with 
so much confidence. 

Chapter III. 


Some ten or twelve years before the begin- 
ning of this story, when Grande Seline had es- 
tablished her lunch-stand under the portico of 
the Union Bank, the handsome structure was 
used for the purpose indicated by the name, cut 
in large letters on the stone facade ; but the 
civil war and numerous unfortunate financial 
changes had abolished the business, and the fine 
old building had degenerated from its dignified 
position into a second-class theater or " variety 
show." On the massive fluted columns hung 
huge colored posters, and against the gray old 
walls were fastened tall boards covered with 
ludicrous pictures of dancing dogs, Chinese jug- 
glers, and absurd caricatures, set forth in glar- 
ing colors in order to attract the attention of the 
common people. Where formerly grave black- 
coated financiers passed in and out, now lounged 
a motley crowd to read the playbills, or scan 
the grotesque pictures, jesting and laughing as 
they elbowed and jostled one another. Among 
them were some of the better class, who lingered 
near Seline's stand, in the corner of the portico, 
to drink a glass of her cold lemonade or to eat 

some of her fresh pralines, crisp and toothsome, 
with the nuts showing thickly through their 
glossy coats. And beside her sweets, in a clean 
basket carefully covered with a fresh napkin 
were dainty sandwiches of French rolls filled 
with chicken or ham, and the lightest and whit- 
est of sponge-cake liberally coated with sugar. 
In the old days it was the custom of the busy 
officials of the bank to snatch a hasty lunch 
from Seline's basket, and to wash it down with 
a glass of her delicious lemonade ; now it was 
another class that patronized her. Still, the qual- 
ity of her wares remained the same ; therefore 
she always had a large custom among the 
habitues of the theater, and in the course of all 
these years she had saved up a snug little sum, 
and could well afford to be generous at times. 

Two or three years before, when Philip had 
first made his appearance on Rue Royale with 
his tray of flowers, while lingering near her 
stand to feast his eyes on her tempting display, 
Seline's attention was attracted by his innocent, 
charming face. He was not more than six 
years old at that time, and his merry laugh and 
pleasant chatter won her heart at once. From 
that day she took him under her especial care, 
and Philip's fresh, fragrant flowers always found 
a shady corner on Seline's table. 

Not long after these friendly relations began, 
the boy appeared one day with a pale, sad- 
eyed little girl, dressed in a shabby, black frock, 
and carrying a small basket in which were a 
few exquisitely modeled wax figures. He intro- 
duced his companion with great confidence to 
Grande Seline, taking it for granted that the 
kindly woman would extend to his forlorn little 
friend the affection she so freely lavished upon 
him. And he was not mistaken. Seline took 
the mournful little creature right to her great 

" I al'ays done loved little gals der best; boys 
is good ernuf, but mighty triflin' and tryin','' 
she said by way of excuse to Philip, who she 
feared might be a little jealous of her sudden 
interest in Dea. 

Philip first met the little girl on Ursulines 
street. She was in great trouble. An overfed 
bulldog had attacked Homo when he was 
very hungry, and consequently very weak, and 
though the poor old animal fought bravely, he 

4 88 



was about to be " the under dog in the fight," 
when Philip appeared, and so sturdily bela- 
bored the enemy with a stout stick that he let 
go and stood at bay, while Homo took refuge 
in instant flight, followed by the little girl, who, 
in her excitement, left her basket on the ban- 
quette. Philip, after he had driven the bulldog 
into a neighboring yard, and closed the gate 
upon him, picked up the neglected property 
and ran after the owner. 

Poor little thing, she was frightened and 
breathless ; but she stopped to thank her deliv- 
erer, between her sobs, while she grasped the 
dog's collar with both trembling hands. 

'• It was n't Homo's fault," she explained, 
in rapid French. " The other dog began it. 
Homo 's old and hungry, but he 's got lots of 
spirit, and he won't bear an insult. The dog 
was rude to Homo, and he could n't help 

" I know," returned Philip ; " I don't blame 
your dog ; he could n't help standing up to a 
saucy beast like that." 

His ready sympathy and sensible apprecia- 
tion of Homo's self-respect won the little girl's 
confidence at once, and from that day they were 
fast friends. She was very reticent, and Philip, 
with inborn delicacy, did not question her 
much ; but from her remarks he learned that 
she lived on Villere street, that her mother was 
dead, and that her father was an artist en are* 
and that he modeled the pretty little figures 
which she tried to sell from house to house. 

" Pauv' papa is always ill," she explained, in 
a grave, soft little voice ; " his head hurts him, 
and he can't sleep at night, and since mama 
died he never sees any one, and never goes out 
in the day ; he says the light hurts him. Some- 
times he goes out in the evening, and stays a 
long time. I don't know where he goes, but I 
think it is to the cimetiere, to mama's grave." 

Philip's bright face clouded ; he felt like cry- 
ing with the child, but he said bravely, " I wish 
you 'd come with me up on Rue Royale ; you 'd 
have a better chance. I 've a friend there who 
has a stand; her name is Grande Seline; I 'm 
sure she '11 help you sell your little figures." 

Dea accepted the kind invitation gratefully, 
and, having the good fortune to win Seline's 
affection at first sight, the child found a faithful 

*In - 

friend, who cared for her in many ways with 
remarkable tenderness and devotion. 

Every day, in rain or shine, the handsome 
boy and the sad-faced little girl could be found 
near Seline, while their wares occupied a part of 
her table, under which Homo slept soundly — a 
weary animal, who at last had found a secure 
and peaceful haven of rest. 

The first break in this pleasant arrangement 
was when Seline went for a few weeks into the 
country, to be present at the wedding of a 
dusky kinswoman. Now she had returned, 
much to the delight of the children, who entered 
upon their former relations with the utmost 
confidence and security. 

Chapter IV. 


Poor little Dea slept peacefully, safe under 
Seline's friendly shadow, and Philip whistled 
merrily, now that his burden of care had fallen 
on broader and stronger shoulders ; and while 
Dea slept and Philip whistled, Seline drowsed 
in the soft spring air, slowly waving her bunch 
of peacock-feathers to keep off the flies. This 
she did quite mechanically, whether her eyes 
were open or closed, and it served a good pur- 
pose in keeping pilfering fingers away from her 
sweets, as well as banishing the obtrusive winged 
creatures that hovered above her; for Seline 
was often in the land of dreams when her 
feathers were waving back and forth with rhyth- 
mic precision. 

On this day she slept with one eye open, for 
she was on the lookout for a suitable owner for 
Esmeralda or Quasimodo. " It 's 'bout time 
fer strangers ter come along," she said to her- 
self, " an' I knows er stranger soon 's I set eyes 
on one ; dey 's der ones what buys dem little 

Suddenly both eyes opened wide, and Seline 
straightened up and looked toward Canal street. 

"Sure 's I born, dar 's dat Lilybel er-comin'.' 
What dat boy er-comin' yere dis time er day 
fur ? Did n't I sont him on der levee, an' tole 
him ter stay dar till he done sole all what he got 
in his basket ? " 

Philip stopped whistling, and turned amused 
eyes toward Lilybel, who slowly approached, 




looking very sheepish. He was a mite of a 
darky, as black and glossy as a rubber shoe, 
with large whites to his bead-like eyes, and 
teeth that glistened like grains of new corn. 
His sunburned hair stood off from his head as 

he looked more like a small scarecrow than a 
member of the human family ; and had it not 
been for his rolling eyes and broad grin. Lilybel 
would have deceived the wisest old crow in a 



though he were in a state of chronic fright, and 
his broad mouth was stretched almost from ear 
to ear in a mirth-provoking grin; his body was 
round and fat, and from his short crooked legs 
his large feet stood out at right angles ; one rag- 
ged suspender over a torn dirty shirt held up a 
muddy bundle of breeches, the ragged legs of 
which were rolled close to his thighs. Altogether 

" Now jes' look at dat boy; ain't he a sight ? " 
cried Seline in a shrill voice, a voice cultivated 
expressly for Lilybel. " I done sont him out 
clean an' peart dis mawnin', an' now yere he is 
all muddy an' frazzled ! I suttenly knows he 's 
er been rollin' down der levee with jes' sich 
triflin' chiFrun like he-self. Come yere!" and 
she thrust out a threatening hand, which Lilybel 




adroitly dodged. " Come yere, I say, afore I 
slap yer head off ! " 

Lilybel paid no attention to Seline's startling 
threat, but skilfully kept out of reach, until he 
wormed himself behind the column where 
Philip sat laughing in spite of Seline's trouble; 
and there, in an excellent position for dodging a 
stray shot, he looked out, grinning defiantly. 

" Is yer gwine ter come yere ? " cried Seline, 
quite beside herself. " Jes' let me get my han' 
on yer," and she jumped up so suddenly that 
she dropped her bunch of feathers in her jar 
of lemonade, while she nearly overturned Dea, 
who awoke startled and confused at the fracas. 
And even Homo arose alertly, and sniffed the 
air, then turned around and curled himself up 
for another nap. It was nothing; he was ac- 
customed to these scenes between Lilybel and 
Seline. " Does yer hear me ? Come yere an' 
tell me what yer done with yer basket ! " and, 
leaning across the table in a frantic effort to 
grab the culprit, Seline came near sending 
Quasimodo to sudden and irreparable ruin, 
while she scattered a shower of pecans over the 

Lilybel could not resist scrambling for some 
of the nuts, and while intent on this hunt, 
Seline caught him by the remnant of his shirt 
and dragged him up before a terrible and piti- 
less tribunal. 

Finding himself a prisoner beyond hope of 
escape, Lilybel, assuming an injured expression, 
declared with a mournful rolling of his eyes 
" dat he had n't done nofin; on'y jes' tumbled 
in der ruver an' got fished out when he was 
mos' drownded." 

" An' whar 's yer basket ? What yer done with 
yer basket ? " cried Seline, shaking Lilybel so 
energetically that he looked like a bundle of 
tatters in a strong wind. 

'• It 's done los' in der ruver," mumbled Lily- 
bel, rolling his eyes and sniffling. 

'• Los' in der ruver ! " repeated Seline slowly. 
" Now, chile, yer is n't tellin der trufe, an' yer 
knows I won't have no boys a-tellfn' me lies. 
I '11 wear dat peach-tree switch out on yer dis 
night ef yer don't tell der trufe." 

" It 's der trufe, ma, es sure as I is a-stan'in' 
yere," returned Lilybel stoutly. " I done los' 
it in der ruver." 

" How come yer los' it in der ruver ? Tell 
me how come yer los' it dar ? " and Seline em- 
phasized her question with another shake, which 
made Lilybel's teeth chatter, while a shower of 
muddy water flew from his rags all over his 
ma's white apron. 

" It 's dis yere way I los' it," gasped Lilybel, 
hastening to explain. " I done went on er plank, 
whar dem rousterbouts is a-wheelin' coal on a 
big steamer, an jes' es I was er-showin' my cakes, 
a big feller run inter me an' push me flop inter 
der ruver. An', ma, I was nearly drownded; I 
was nearly dade," cried Lilybel, growing pa- 
thetic as he approached the climax. " I done 
come up der las' time, when er rousterbout grab 
me an' pull me out." 

" I won'er ef yer is er-tellin' me der trufe, 
Lilybel," questioned Seline doubtfully as she 
relaxed her grasp a little. 

" I is, ma, I is/ " and Lilybel rolled his eyes 
and twisted his mouth into various affirmative 
contortions, while Seline for some little time 
held him at arm's-length and examined him 

" It 's no use ter b'lieve yer, Lilybel ; I jes' 
got ter find out ef yer did fall inter der ruver 
an los' yer basket," continued Seline solemnly; 
"but ef yer is er-tellin der trufe, yer suttenly 
did n't have much in yer basket when yer done 
los' it, cause yer is full alamos' ter burstin' with 
dem cakes an' pralines. Oh, yer is a triflin', 
worryin' chile, an' I 's got ter use der rod on yer 
plenty 'fore I 's done with yer ! Go down dar 
an' curl up with dat ole dog; it 's the bes' 
place fer yer ! " and with a sounding slap, 
Seline thrust the culprit under the table, close to 
Homo, where with a satisfied chuckle he nes- 
tled down, his head on the dog, and in a few 
moments was sleeping as soundly and irrespon- 
sibly as the animal beside him. 

" Now, Mars' Philip, yer see what a trial I 's 
got," said Seline, turning to Philip for sympathy. 
'• It ain't no use puttin' conference in Lilybel. I 
s'pects he done eat dem cake an' pralines, an' 
frowed dat basket away. My, my ! he 's goin' 
ter ruin me ef I lets him have a basket. How 
come dat boy 's so bad ? " continued Seline re- 
flectively. " An I done name him fer his two 
little sisters what 's dade, two peart chil'run as 
yer ever did see, an' jes' es sweet an' good es 



49 i 

Ma'mselle Dea. It 's jes' es I say : gals is 
natchly good, an' boys is natchly bad." 

" Oh, Seline, I 'm a boy," interposed Philip, 
" and I 'm not so bad." 

'• No, no, honey, yer is n't bad; but ye 're 
white, an' white boys is different." 

" Only think, Seline, Lilybel might have 
drowned," said Dea softly; "then how sorry you 
would have been." 

•• Dat boy drownded ! No, no, chile ; I 's 
more 'feared he 's born ter be hanged, 'cause 
Lilybel 's mighty mannish, an' trainin' don't do 
him no good. I 's got heaps of trouble with 
dat boy." 

While this conversation was in progress, 
Seline tidied up her table, and restored Quasi- 

modo to his original position, still intent, in 
spite of Lilybel's unexpected interruption, on 
finding a customer. 

'• Dar 's dat stranger what use' ter pass yere 
right often fer flowers an' pralines. He 's goin' 
ter buy yer little image if he comes ter-day. 
He paints pictures up in der top of dat tall 
house down yere on Rue Royale. An' he 's 
from der norf, an' rich — rich!" 

Dea's little wan face took on a pleased, ex- 
pectant look. Seating herself primly on a 
stool beside Seline, she watched the passers 
attentively, while Philip, standing on the edge 
of the banquette, whistled impatiently as he 
scanned the people on the opposite side of the 

{ To be continued. ) 


5 Jl' ST 




By Maurice Thompson. 

Oh, don't you think we 'd better take our springtime holiday ? 
There 's something in the southern breeze that says it 's time to play. 
The oriole 's on the apple bough, the lark is in the grass ; 
The jays and bluebirds film the air with azure as they pass ; 
The cows low in the pasture-fields, and don't you hear the sheep 
With tender bells along the fells and in the dells so deep ? 

Come out ! come out ! The leaves are young, the bees begin to boom ; 

The slopes are blue with violets, spring-beauties are in bloom; 

The bass is leaping in the brook, the heron watches him ; 

The old kingfisher nods upon the flowery dogwood limb ; 

Oh, where 's my rod ? and where 's my line ? and where 's my hackle gray ? 

My reel ? my creel ? I think I feel like taking holiday ! 

White as fleeces on the hills the wild plum-thickets blow. 

And over the winding meadow stream the willows droop and glow ; 

Across the field the plowman sings, plodding behind his team : 

His words are like the lonesome sounds that wander through a dream ; 

For it is May, and everything half sleeping seems to say : 

Shirk, shirk, — slip off from work and have a holiday!" 

There 's something dancing in the air, it beckons down the lane: 
Oh, Lazy Lawrence, did you ever, ever call in vain ? 
Loafing, aimless butterfly, wandering bumblebee, 
This one time, if never more, I '11 shift and drift with thee ; 
For all the earth is gaily dressed, has cast its cares away, 
And why not I a-fishing hie, and have my holiday ? 




A holiday ! a holiday ! The robin lolls and swings ; 
Upon the pear-tree's broken bough with half-extended wings 
The flicker drums in lazing mood; the silent hawk on high 
Slides like a gray old burnt-out moon against the drowsy sky ; 
And oh, you know, but once a year we have the dream o' May, 
The bloom o' May, the birds o' May, and springtime 
holiday ! 

K « 7 



our vi 

' r ?®"f , ^B» < ** : " ' "^' '•'"' lagehome 

in Brazi 
the killing 
of a jaguar 
is glory allotted 
« jaguar pisb,ng. to but few, because 

the creatures are not very common ; I suppose 
the region has been settled too long, and jag- 
uars, more than any other Brazilian animals, 
avoid the presence of man. Now and then we 
heard of cattle being killed by them ; and once 
some hunters brought in a good-sized fellow 
which I bought for the sake of the skin and 
skull. Strangely enough, they had killed it with 
No. 8 shot. I have the skin yet, and it is a 
very pretty home-ornament. 

But what is a purchased jaguar-hide com- 
pared to one fairly acquired with gun and bul- 
let ! Bert can show you a finer specimen than 
mine, and one infinitely more precious, for he 
shot the animal himself. I am going to tell 
you of that hunt. Some of my boy readers, 
I hope, will come to know the grand excite- 
ment of jaguar-hunting, though few of you are 
likely to experience it at Bert's age. At that 
time he was only seventeen years old, and 
Carlos was rather younger. 

One morning Dolly and I were riding some 
miles from Chapada, Brazil; the road was on 
open campo land, but near the edge of a large 
forest tract. The woods, as usual, spread like 
a wall against the grass and scattered low trees 
of the clearer tract called the campo. This 
campo affords very good pasturage, and small 
herds of cattle are kept on it, roaming about in 

a half wild state. I remember being a little 
surprised that there were none along the road, 
for it was a favorite grazing-place. 

Dolly, who was riding ahead, called my at- 
tention to a singular track or trail, which 
crossed the road diagonally and appeared to 
enter the woods. You may have seen a country 
road where a log has been dragged over the 
ground by oxen. Well, this trail was much like 
that of the log, only broader and more irregu- 
lar. Plainly, some heavy object had been 
pulled across the campo. But how, and why ? 
Even supposing that one of the rare travelers 
here had dragged something, how could he 
have dragged an object so heavy as this had 
evidently been ? And why should he drag it 
across instead of along the road ? I noticed, 
too, that our horses smelled uneasily at the 
track, and seemed anxious to get away from it. 

Now, in these regions one learns to ascribe 
every track to a wild animal, unless it can be 
plainly shown that it was made by man or by 
tame animals. Neither Dolly nor I doubted 
for a moment that this trail had been made by 
an animal dragging its prey; and the only 
beast of prey in Brazil that could have pulled a 
load so heavy was a jaguar. Probably it had 
killed one of the cattle which commonly grazed 
here ; the rest of the herd had stampeded, and 
that would explain why there were none in 

We followed the trail to the woods, — our 
horses going unwillingly enough, — and saw 
that it passed under the trees. Then we 
crossed the road, and followed in the other di- 
rection. Presently we came to a place where 
the turf was all torn up, as if by a struggle. 



There was no blood, — jaguars generally kill by 
striking the shoulder or back with their muscu- 
lar paws ; but among the cattle-tracks I soon 
found imprints that could have been made only 
by a jaguar's foot, and a very large one at that. 
This was quite proof enough, and of course it 
would have been useless and dangerous for me 
to follow the trail into the woods, armed, as I 
was, only with a small revolver, and without 
dogs. So we galloped back to Chapada to 
warn our hunters. 

Luckily, both Bert and Carlos were at home, 
and mightily pleased they were at our news ; 
neither had yet killed a jaguar, though they had 
tracked more than one. After consultation we 
agreed that it would be better to call in the aid 
of a young planter who lived some five miles 
from Chapada ; this man was an experienced 
jaguar-hunter, and had two dogs well trained 
to the sport. The planter had several long and 
high-sounding names, but he was commonly 
known by the first two of them ; for conve- 
nience I shall call him Augusto. 

A messenger galloped off, and brought Au- 
gusto back in less than two hours; meanwhile, 
the boys had been loading cartridges with ball 
and buckshot, and sharpening their wood- 
knives. Augusto brought his two dogs, and 
after some hesitation we concluded to take our 
own dog, " Boca-negra," though he had no ex- 
perience in jaguar-hunting. Leaving the vil- 
lage about noon, we presently met our old 
hunter, Vicente, with his gun and a couple of 
scraggly dogs. He needed no urging to turn 
back with us, dogs and all ; so we were now 
five, with five dogs and four guns. As looker- 
on and historian I carried only a revolver. 

In an hour we reached the trail, none of 
us tired, though the boys had come on foot. 
In these highlands even the mid-day air is 
gloriously fresh, and exercise in it a real luxury. 
Here Augusto and I dismounted, and sent 
our horses back by a man we had brought. 
The dogs, already barking on the trail, were 
secured, our belts tightened and Vicente's gun 
reloaded with ball, and together we plunged 
into the woods. 

There was no difficulty in following the trail, 
and five minutes brought us to the little open 
spot where the jaguar had left its prey. This 

was a cow, nearly full grown ; and, considering 
that the carcass had been dragged half a mile, 
partly through tangled forest, we were not in- 
clined to underrate the strength of our fierce 

Close by, in a bit of soft ground, Vicente 
found tracks nearly five inches across, indicat- 
ing a very large animal. Examining the cow's 
body, we found some scratches where the jag- 
uar had struck it, and marks of teeth in the 
neck ; but that was all. At various times I 
have seen several animals — deer and cattle — 
that had been killed by jaguars, and, in every 
case, the skin was almost without a scratch. 
The creature literally knocks its victim life- 
less, — if not with one blow, then with two or 
three, — and this with a paw like velvet. There 
is an unlawful and cowardly weapon called a 
" life-preserver " : it consists of a flexible strip 
or bar, with a thickly padded leaden ball at 
the end. A blow from this dangerous club 
will break a bone without bruising the skin. It 
is the only parallel I can think of to the muscu- 
lar softness of a jaguar's paw. 

We knew that our jaguar must be somewhere 
in our vicinity ; not being very hungry, proba- 
bly, it had put off its dinner until night. We 
loosed the dogs, and in half a minute they were 
all yelping on the trail, we close behind. Al- 
most immediately a chorus of barks and snarls 
told that the jaguar's retreat had been discov- 
ered, not fifty yards away. We hurried up, but 
before we could catch a glimpse of the animal 
there was a growl and a rush, and the chase 
streamed off down a hill and across a ravine in 
grand cry. 

The woods here were more open, and we kept 
so close to the game that once or twice we saw 
the dogs, though not the jaguar. Beyond the 
ravine came a stiff thicket of bamboo and 
bushes ; we got through it somehow, our torn 
clothes and scratched faces a spectacle, if we 
had stopped to think of them. Pell-mell down 
a second long hill, the dogs more distant now, 
and our hunters perspiring and panting ; but 
another chorus of barks told us that the jaguar 
was brought to bay, and we scrambled up a 
rocky glen, quite forgetting that we had already 
raced two miles. Augusto, getting ahead, 
caught a glimpse of the jaguar's spotted coat, 




just as it broke away again ; he fired one bar- 
rel on the chance of hitting, but without effect. 

Now came a long hill, not very steep, but 
the forest so matted that we had to cut our 
path, — the chase more and more distant, until 
the sounds quite died away. We stopped and 
listened, but could hear nothing. This was dis- 
couraging and unusual, for a jaguar-chase is 
generally short; either the animal escapes at 
the first rush, or, if brought to bay, will hold 
his place, though a dozen hunters come up. 
Augusto said it would be useless to go farther; 
probably one or two of the dogs would be 
killed, and the rest would return. But none of 
us liked to abandon the chase, and it seemed 
shabby to desert the dogs as long as there was 
a chance of helping them; so we pushed on, 
more slowly now, for we began to discover that 
we were tired. After five minutes we came to a 
stream, where we stopped to drink and to bathe 
our faces. 

Bert and I were a little above ; suddenly he 
caught my arm and stood listening, then raced 
off to the left, while I ran after him, with the 
revolver cocked in my hand. It was a rush of 
the whole party now, for the chase was coming 
back down the hill, and evidently would cross 
the stream above. Bert and I, from our posi- 
tion, had a little advantage of the others ; he 
was a few yards ahead of me. It was quick 
work, the pack yelping down one side of a 
right angle, and we running up the other. Half 
a minute — a grand burst of barks and snarls 
and all canine pandemonium let loose, and sav- 
age growls that sent our pulse up fifty beats; 
a spotted, tawny creature, lashing its tail and 
glancing fire from its eyes, and snarling, with 
teeth and claws displayed. The next instant I 
saw one of Vicente's dogs flying through the 
bushes, as if hurled from a catapult ; another, 
and Bert's right barrel rang out and the spotted 
coat was somewhere in the air, springing right 
at the young hunter. My heart stood still ! 
I have an indistinct remembrance of rushing 
forward with my revolver, but before I had 
taken a step, the peal of Bert's left barrel came, 
and the jaguar lay kicking convulsively — a 
dead jaguar five seconds after. The spring had 
fallen short, and our youngster had stepped 
aside and put a ball through the creature's 

heart. We found that his first bullet had shat- 
tered the jaw. 

All this passed much more quickly than you 
can read it ; but the congratulations that fol- 
lowed were long enough. We shook hands with 
Bert for several minutes, and again at intervals 
until night; and I am sure he deserved all the 
praise we could give him. It was not nerve 
merely, but coolness that gave him the victory. 
To face a jaguar's spring requires courage 
enough, but to put a ball in the right place, 
half a second after, is something few men would 
be capable of. Do you wonder that Bert is 
proud of that skin ? 

Vicente was the only unhappy member of 
the party. His dog was deader, if possible, 
than the jaguar, with half a dozen bones 
crushed ; this was not altogether the result of 
the blow from the jaguar's paw, for the dog had 
been flung against a tree. Vicente had an un- 
lucky way of losing a dog or two at every suc- 
cessful hunt; but he had so many that the loss 
hardly counted. The other dogs were all 
right. It was about ten minutes before they 
could be convinced that their enemy was really 
defunct, but when their yelps had quieted down 
they came in for a due share of praise. Boca- 
negra had behaved nobly, showing just the 
right combination of courage and caution. 
Thereafter he was known as an experienced 
jaguar-dog, and properly proud he was of the 

We measured the jaguar — an old male — 
before taking off the skin : five feet and seven 
inches from nose to root of tail ; the tail added 
would bring the total length to nearly eight 
feet. This was a good deal above the average, 
though I have seen skins quite six feet long, not 
including the tail. The body weighed, I sup- 
pose, not less than three hundred pounds. This 
was the variety or species called cangussu by the 
hunters of Matto Grosso ; on the Amazons it 
is the uriaitdra, or dog-jaguar. All over South 
America three kinds of jaguars are distin- 
guished ; naturalists at present regard them as 
varieties, but I confess I am inclined to side 
with the hunters who laugh at the idea that 
these three are the same. The cangussu — the 
kind Bert had shot — is confined to the higher 
lands, never straying over the great swamps of 

i8 9 3-J 



the Amazons and Paraguay. The ground color is 
pale tawny, almost white at times, and is irregu- 
larly covered with small black spots, which tend 
to run into stripes along the back. Besides hav- 

swampy places where that plant grows. This 
is the common jaguar of the great river plains, 
though also seen occasionally on the highlands. 
It has a deep tawny coat, with large black spots 
so arranged that they form little circles or 
" roses " on the sides, but sometimes run into 
stripes on the back. The onca pintada often at- 
tacks alligators and turtles, and it lives largely 
on fish. There is a curious story about the 
jaguar's fishing, which many travelers have 
told, though most discredit it. I have heard it 
from reliable woodsmen, who say they have 
watched the whole performance ; and, for my- 
self, I can see nothing incredible in it. The 
jaguar, it is said, lies on a projecting log and 
strikes the water gently with its tail ; certain 




ing longer legs and tail, and it is altogether a more 
slender animal than xheoiifapintada, called by the 
Amazonian Indians youarete-pacora-sororoca, or 
"jaguar of the wild plantain," because it frequents 
Vol. XX. — 32. 

fruit-eating fish, as the pacu, come 
to the sound, imagining that a 
fruit has dropped into the water, 
and the jaguar scoops them out 
with his paw. That these fish 
follow sound I knovv, for I have 
often caught paciis with a palm- 
nut bait, dropping it gently on the 
surface of the water two or three 
times ; the fish, attracted by the 
noise, soon appear, and even leap after the 
fruit as trout leap to a fly. This is the common 
method of pacu-fishing on the Paraguay, and 
very good sport it is. 




The onijas pintadas swim well, as I can attest. 
I have seen one swimming across the river 
Cuyaba, where it is a quarter of a mile broad. 
It is said that they cross even the Paraguay and 

The third variety or species is the black 
" tiger," very rare on the Matto Grosso high- 
lands, but common in the Amazonian and Ori- 
noco forests. This is the largest and fiercest of 
all. At first sight the skin appears quite black; 
but on closer inspection still darker spots, simi- 
lar to those of the on9a pintada, can be dis- 

I may add here that the puma — our North 
American species — is also found all over South 
America, and in many places is very common. 
It is a pest to the cattle-men, from its propensity 
for carrying off young calves; but otherwise it 
is little feared, and for size and fierceness will 
bear no comparison with the jaguars. South 
America has also a number of smaller species, 
ranging from the spotted jaguartirica, nearly 
as large as a puma, down to the little gray and 
striped kinds hardly bigger than a domestic 

During our South American travels we heard 
of a good many encounters with jaguars, some 
of them ending in the death or maiming of the 
hunter. I knew of a man who stood over the in- 
sensible body of his friend and beat off a jaguar 
with his clubbed gun ; the friend died that 
day, and the man himself never fully recovered 
from the wounds he received in his brave at- 
tempt to save his companion. 

Near our Matto Grosso home there was an 
old, half-crazy mulatto, whose left arm was 
covered with hideous scars. We were told 
that this man found a jaguar killing one of his 
cattle ; his only weapon was a knife like a large 
carving-knife — a kind often carried by Brazil- 
ians in the wild interior. The man wrapped a 
coarse cotton handkerchief about his left hand 
and arm, and ran at the jaguar with the knife 
in his right hand. Somehow he got his left arm 
into the animal's mouth and half down its 
throat ; then he showered stabs against the ja- 
guar's breast, while all the time the creature 
was crunching his arm and fighting with its 
claws. By some miracle the man did actually 
kill the jaguar; but he paid dearly for an en- 

counter that only such a half-mad fellow would 
have ventured upon. 

Before leaving the subject, I want to tell you 
the story of another jaguar-skin that is in my 
possession. It was taken from an onca pintada 
in the great swamp region of the upper Para- 
guay. I did not see the jaguar killed; I wish I 
had, for if jaguar-chasing with guns is exciting, 
the spear-hunting of the Guato Indians must 
be something superb. 

My informant, the one who killed the jaguar, 
was a young fellow named Jones; the name he 
had from his English father, but he himself was 
a Bolivian, and he told me the story in Spanish. 
Jones had spent nearly all his life among the 
Guatos, — a fine race of Indians, very friendly 
to the whites, — and he had adopted many of 
their customs; among others, that of hunting 
the jaguar with a spear. He said he considered 
it surer and safer than a gun ; perhaps it is, but 
the coolness and courage required must be 
something phenomenal. The spear he showed 
me was a stout pole about nine feet long, with 
a sharp iron head, like a lance-head, but larger 
and stronger. The Guato spears are usually 
tipped with bone, in aboriginal fashion. 

" We were camped," he said, " with a party 
of Guatos, by Lake Uberaba ; the river was low 
then, but beginning to rise, and most of the 
open land was still dry. We had passed a 
miserable night, because of the heat and mos- 
quitos; but I was used to it, and slept after a 
fashion. Early in the morning one of the In- 
dians came in and reported fresh jaguar-tracks 
on the lake-shore close by ; I suppose the ani- 
mal had come down to drink during the night. 
We — that is, half a dozen Indians with myself — 
went after the jaguar at once, armed, as usual, 
with spears. I had dogs, but did not take them; 
they are sometimes useful in bringing the ja- 
guar to bay, but beyond that they are of no 
use in this kind of hunting, — rather an impedi- 
ment. We followed the track for a mile or 
more, through high grass, moving very cau- 
tiously and with the spears always advanced; at 
length we found the animal lying under some 
bushes, and luckily where the ground was a lit- 
tle more open. I directed the Indians to follow 
just behind me, and myself walked up to the 
jaguar slowly, keeping the spear-head always 

t8 9 3] 



toward it. The creature just crouched down 
and lashed its tail, growling a little, until I was 
no more than ten paces distant; then I stopped, 
broke a stick from a bush by my side, and 
threw it at the jaguar's head. At once I saw 
that it was going to spring, but that was just 
what I wanted. Half kneeling, I rested the 
spear- shaft on the ground behind, so that 
the blade was before me and a little higher 
than my head; in that position I awaited the 

have coolly, you cannot fail to kill, or at least 
to disable, him. The only difficulty is to make 
him spring. If he fails to do so, there is no re- 



The jaguar 

sprang, and, just as 

I had expected, came down 

with all its weight on the spear, 

which passed through its heart. 

Indians ran up to assist me, but it was needless; 

the jaguar was quite dead. That is the whole source but to attack him with the spear as he 

secret of spear-hunting, — to provoke the jaguar lies, and that is awkward; but I have killed a 

to spring on you and to receive him on the number so, too. I used to hunt jaguars with a 

point of the spear, taking care that the shaft gun and dogs, but it is dangerous business; the 

rests firmly on the ground behind. If you be- only sure weapon is the spear." 



Said a German professor, old Herr von Klotz, 
" I 've heard that the leopard can change his 
And so I 'm going out to the Zoo, 
To find out whether or not it 's true." 

The Leopard reclined in a narrow space : 
But soon he was crouched in another place, 
And then in a third ! — When Herr von Klotz 
Cried, " Bless my soul ! He has changed his 
spots ! " 

. Mjstr&ss 


^; f/ Iff \ ^#f ill: ^fSJgL 


By Virginia Woodward Cloud. 

There is such staring all about, 
And such a running up and down ; 
The Dominie himself goes out, 
And we behind him, two and two, — 
We mind our manners, that we do, 
When Mistress Peggy comes to town ! 

The yellow coach goes rattling by, 

With its white horses galloping; 

The geese and chickens frightened fly, 

Even the Parson's pigeons proud 

Go scurrying through the dusty cloud ; 

The Blacksmith's anvil stops its ring ! 

"we behind him, two and two." 




They draw up just a moment's 

For water, at the " Trusty 

Once she leaned out, — we saw 

her face, — 
It was so pink and sweet and 

Like Granny's roses by the 

She smiled at Cicely and me. 

Then toots the horn, the whip 

goes "crack!" 
The dogs all bark the noise to 

And oft" they dash; the dust 

flies back; 
The coach is out of sight at 

You 'd think a wind-storm had 

blown past 
When Mistress Peggy comes to 

town ! 

"the blacksmith's anvil stops its ring.' 



By Kate Douglas Wiggin. 

Author of " The Birds' Christmas Carol" " A Summer hi a Cation" etc. 

[Begun ill tlie November number.] 

Chapter XVI. 


There were great doings in the Bird's Nest. 

A hundred dainty circulars, printed in black 
and scarlet on Irish linen paper, had been sent 
to those ladies on Mrs. Bird's calling-list who 
had children between the ages of five and 
twelve, that being Polly's chosen limit of age. 

These notes of invitation read as follows : 

" Come, tell us a story ! " 
The Children's Hour. 

Mrs. Donald Bird requests the pleasure of your com- 
pany from 4.30 to 5.30 o'clock on Mondays or Thursdays 
from November to March inclusive. 
First Group : Mondays. Children from 5 to 8 years. 
Second Group : Thursdays. " " 8 " 12 " 

Each group limited in number to twenty-four. 

Miss Pauline Oliver will tell stories suitable to the 
ages of the children, adapted to their prevailing interests, 
and appropriate to the special months of the year. 

These stories will be chosen with the greatest care, and 
will embrace representative tales of all classes — narra- 
tive, realistic, scientific, imaginative, and historical. They 
will be illustrated by songs and blackboard sketches. 
Terms for the Series (Twenty Hours), Five Dollars. 

R. S. V. P. 

Polly felt an absolute sense of suffocation as 
she saw Mrs. Bird seal and address the last 
square envelop. 

" If anybody does come," she said, a little 
sadly, " I am afraid it will be only that it is at 
your lovely house." 

" Don't be so foolishly independent, my child. 
If I gather the groups, it is only you who will 
be able to hold them together. I am your 
manager, and it is my duty to make the acces- 
sories as perfect as possible. When the scenery 
and costumes and stage settings are complete, 
you enter and do the real work. I retire, and 
the sole responsibility for success or failure rests 

upon your shoulders. I should think that would 
be enough to satisfy the most energetic young 
woman. I had decided on the library as the 
scene of action. An open fire is indispensable, 
and that room is so large when the center table 
is lifted out, — but I am afraid it is hardly 
secluded enough, and that people might trouble 
you by coming in; so what do you think of the 
music-room up-stairs ? You will have your 
fire, your piano, plenty of space, and a private 
entrance for the chicks, who can lay their wraps 
in the hall as they pass up. I will take that 
large Turkish rug from the red guest-chamber, — 
that will make the room look warmer, — and I 
have a dozen other charming devices which I 
will give you later as surprises." 

" If I were half as sure of my part as I am of 
yours, dear Fairy Godmother, we should have 
nothing to fear. I have a general plan mapped 
out for the stories, but a great deal of the work 
will have to be done from week to week as I 
go on. I shall use the same program in the 
main for both groups, but I shall simplify every- 
thing and illustrate more freely for the little 
ones, telling the historical and scientific stories 
with much more detail to the older group. This 
is what Mr. Bird calls my 'basic idea,' which 
will be filled out from week to week according 
to inspiration. For November, I shall make 
autumn, the harvest, and Thanksgiving the start- 
ing-point. I am all ready with my historical 
story of ' The First Thanksgiving,' for I told it 
at the Children's Hospital last year, and it went 

" I have one doll dressed in Dutch costume, 
to show how the little Pilgrim children looked 
when they lived in Holland; and another dressed 
like a Puritan maiden, to show them the simple 
old New England gown. Then I have two 
fine pictures of Miles Standish and the Indian 
chief Massasoit. 



" For December and January I shall have 
Christmas and winter, and frost and ice and 
snow, with the contrasts of Eastern and Cali- 
fornian climates." 

" I can get the Immigration Bureau to give 
you a percentage on that story, Polly," said 
Uncle Jack Bird, who had strolled in and taken 
a seat. " Just make your facts strong enough, 
and you can make a handsome thing out of 
that idea." 

"Don't interrupt us, Jack," said Mrs. Bird; 
" and go directly out, if you please. You were 
not asked to this party." 

" Where was I?" continued Polly. "Oh, yes! 
— the contrast between Californian and Eastern 
winters; and January will have a moral story 
or two, you know, — New Year's resolutions, 
and all that. February will be full of sentiment 
and patriotism — St. Valentine's Day and Wash- 
ington's Birthday — I can hardly wait for that, 
there are so many lovely things to do in that 
month. March will bring in the first hint of 
spring. The Winds will serve for my science 
story ; and as it chances to be a presidential 
year, we will celebrate Inauguration Day, and 
have some history, if a good many subscribers 
come in." 

■' Why do you say ' if,' Polly ? Multitudes 
of names are coming in. I have told you so 
from the beginning." 

"Very well, then; when a sufficient number 
of names are entered, I should like to spend ten 
dollars on a very large kindergarten sand-table, 
which I can use with the younger group for 
illustrations. It is perfectly clean work, and I 
have helped Miss Denison and her children to 
do the loveliest things with it. She makes ge- 
ography lessons — plains, hills, mountains, val- 
leys, rivers, and lakes; or the children make a 
picture of the story they have just heard. I saw 
them do ' Over the River and through the Wood 
to Grandfather's House we go,' ' Washington's 
Winter Camp at Valley Forge,' and ' The Mid- 
night Ride of Paul Revere.' I have ever so 
many songs chosen, and those for November 
and December are almost learned without my 
notes. I shall have to work very hard to be 
ready twice a week ! " 

"Too hard, I fear," said Mrs. Bird, anxiously. 

" Oh, no ; not a bit too hard ! If the children 

are only interested, I shall not mind any amount 
of trouble. By the way, dear Mrs. Bird, you 
won't let the nurses or mothers stand in the 
doorways ? You will please see that I am left 
quite alone with the children, won't you ? " 

" Certainly ; no mothers shall be admitted, 
if they make you nervous ; it is the children's 
hour. But after two or three months, when 
you have all become acquainted, and the chil- 
dren are accustomed to listening attentively, 1 
almost hope you will allow a few nurses to 
come in and sit in the corners — the ones who 
bring the youngest children, for example ; it 
would be such a means of education to them. 
There 's another idea for you next year: a 
nurses' class in story-telling." 

" It would be rather nice, wouldn't it ? — and 
I should be older then, and more experienced. 
I really think I could do it, if Miss Denison 
would help me by talks and instructions. She 
will be here next year. Oh, how the little plan 
broadens out ! " 

" And, Polly, you have chosen to pay for 
your circulars, and propose to buy your sand- 
table. This I agree to, if you insist upon it; 
though why I should n't help my godchild, I 
cannot quite understand. But knowing you 
were so absorbed in other matters that you 
would forget the frivolities, I have ventured to 
get you some pretty little gowns for the ' story 
hours,' and I want you to accept them for your 
Christmas present. They will serve for all your 
' afternoons ' and for our little home dinners, 
as you will not be going out anywhere this 

" Oh, how kind you are, Mrs. Bird ! You 
load me with benefits, and how can I ever 
repay you ?" 

" You do not have to repay them to me 
necessarily, my child; you can pass them over, 
as you will be constantly doing, to all these 
groups of children, day after day. I am a sort 
of stupid, rich old lady who serves as a source 
of supply. My chief brilliancy lies in devising 
original methods for getting rid of my surplus 
in all sorts of odd and delightful ways, left 
untried, for the most part, by other people. 
I 've been buying up splendid old trees in 
the outskirts of certain New England country 
towns, — trees that were in danger of being cut 



down for wood. Twenty-five to forty dollars 
buys a glorious tree, and it is safe for ever 
and ever to give shade to the tired traveler and 
beauty to the landscape. Each of my boys has 
his pet odd scheme for helping the world to 
' go right.' Donald, for instance, puts stamps on 
all the unstamped letters displayed in the Cam- 
bridge post-office, and sends them spinning on 
their way. He never receives the thanks of the 
careless writers, but he takes pleasure in making 
things straight. Paul writes me from Phillips 
Academy that this year he is sending the nine 
Ruggles children (a poor family of our ac- 
quaintance) to some sort of entertainment once 
every month. Hugh has just met a lovely girl 
who has induced him to help her maintain a 
boarding establishment for sick and deserted 
cats and dogs ; and there we are ! " 

" But I 'm a young, strong girl, and I fear 
I 'm not so worthy an object of charity as a 
tree, an unstamped letter, an infant Ruggles, or 
a deserted cat ! Still, I know the dresses will 
be lovely, and I had quite forgotten that I 
must be clothed in purple and fine linen for five 
months to come. It would have been one of 
my first thoughts last year, I am afraid; but 
lately this black dress has shut everything else 
from my sight." 

" It was my thought that you should give up 
your black dress just for these occasions, dear, 
and wear something more cheerful for the chil- 
dren's sake. The dresses are very simple, but 
they will please you, I know. They will be 
brought home this evening, and you must slip 
them all on and show yourself to us in each." 

They would have pleased anybody, even a 
princess, Polly thought, as she stood before her 
bed that evening patting the four pretty new 
waists, and smoothing with childlike delight 
the folds of the four pretty skirts. It was such 
an odd sensation to have four dresses at a time ! 

They were of simple and inexpensive mate- 
rials, as was appropriate; but Mrs. Bird's exqui- 
site taste and feeling for what would suit Polly's 
personality made them more attractive than if 
they had been rich and elegant. 

There was a white China silk, with bodice 
and shoulder-knots of black velvet ; a white 
Japanese crepe, with little purple lilacs strewed 
over its surface, and frills of violet ribbon for 


ornament ; a Christmas dress of soft, white 
camel's hair, with bands of white-fox fur round 
the slightly pointed neck and elbow-sleeves; 
and, last of all, a Quaker gown of silver-gray 
nun's cloth, with a surplice and full undersleeves 
of white crepe-lisse. 

"I 'm going to be vain, Mrs. Bird!" cried 
Polly, with compunction in her voice. " I 've 
never had a real beautiful, undyed, un-made- 
over dress in my whole life, and I shall never 
have strength of character to own four at once 
without being vain ! " 

This speech was uttered through the crack of 
the library door, outside of which Polly stood 
gathering courage to walk in and be criticized. 

" Think of your aspiring nose, Sapphira ! " 
came from a voice within. 

" Oh ! are you there too, Edgar ? " 

" Of course I am, and so is Tom Mills. The 
news that you are going to ' try on ' is all over 
the neighborhood! If you have cruelly fixed 
the age limit so that we can't possibly get in 
to the performances, we are going to attend all 
the dress rehearsals. — Oh, ye little fishes ! what 
a seraphic Sapphira ! I wish Tony were here ! " 

She was pretty, there was no doubt about it, as 
she turned about like a revolving wax figure in 
a show-window, and assumed absurd fashion- 
plate attitudes ; and pretty chiefly because of 
the sparkle, intelligence, sunny temper, and vi- 
tality that made her so magnetic. 

Nobody could decide which was the loveliest 
dress, even when she had appeared in each one 
twice. In the lilac and white crepe with a 
buncli of dark Parma violets thrust in her 
corsage Uncle Jack called her a poem. Edgar 
asserted openly that in the Christmas toilet he 
should like to have her modeled in wax and 
put in a glass case on his table ; but Mrs. Bird 
and Tom Mills voted for the Quaker gray in 
which she made herself inexpressibly demure 
by braiding her hair in two discreet braids 
down her back. 

" The dress rehearsal is over. Good night 
all ! " she said as she took her candle. " I will 
say ' handsome is as handsome does ' fifty times 
before I go to sleep, and perhaps — I only say 
perhaps — I may be used to my beautiful clothes 
in a week or two so that I shall be my usual 
modest self again." 

i8 93 .J 

" Good night, Polly," said the boys ; 
see you to-morrow." 

" ' Pauline,' if you please, not ' Polly.' I 
ceased to be Polly this morning when the cir- 
culars were posted. I am now Miss Pauline 
Oliver, story-teller by profession." 

we will 


tiful streets and before a very large and elegant 
house. This did not surprise me, as I knew 
her husband to be a very wealthy man. There 
seemed to be various entrances, for the house 
stood with its side to the main street ; but when 
I had at last selected a bell to ring, I became 


Chapter XVII. 


" It was the last Monday in March, and I 
had come in from my country home to see if 
I could find my old school friend, Margaret 
Crosby, who is now Mrs. Donald Bird and 
who is spending a few years in California. 

" The directory gave me her address, and I 
soon found myself on the corner of two beau- 

convinced that I had not, after all, gone to the 
front door. It was too late to retreat, however, 
and very soon the door was opened by a pretty 
maid-servant in a white cap and apron. 

" ' You need n't have rung, 'm ; they 
right in without ringing to-day,' she 

" ' Can I see Mrs. Bird ? ' I asked. 

" ' Well, 'm,' she said hesitatingly, ' she 's ir 

" Lovely Margaret Crosby dead! How sud^ 





den it must have been, I thought, growing pale 
with the shock of the surprise ; but the pretty 
maid, noticing that something had ruffled my 
equanimity, went on hastily : 

" ' Excuse me, 'm. I forgot you might be a 
stranger, but all the nurses and mothers always 
comes to this door, and we 're all a bit flustered 
on account of its bein' Miss Pauline's last "after- 
noon," and the mothers call the music room 
" Paradise," 'm, and Mr. John and the rest of us 
have took it up without thinkin' very much how 
it might sound to strangers.' 

" ' Oh ! I see,' I said mechanically, though 
I did n't see in the least ; but although the 
complicated explanation threw very little light 
on general topics, it did have the saving grace 
of assuring me that Margaret Bird was living. 

" ' Could you call her out for a few minutes ? ' 
I asked. ' I am an old friend, and shall be dis- 
appointed not to see her.' 

" ' I 'm sorry, 'm, but I could n't possibly call 
her out ; it would be as much as my place is 
worth. Her strict orders is that nobody once 
inside of Paradise door shall be called out.' 

" (That does seem reasonable, I thought to 

" ' But,' she continued, ' Mrs. Bird told me to 
let young Mr. Noble up the stairs so 't he could 
peek in the door, and as you 're an old friend I 
hev n't no objections to your going up softly 
and peekin' in with him, till Miss Pauline 's 
through, — it won't be long, 'm.' 

" My curiosity was aroused by this time, and 
I came to the conclusion that ' peekin' in the 
door ' of Paradise with ' young Mr. Noble ' 
would be better than nothing; so up I went, like 
a thief in the night. 

" The room was at the head of the stairs, and 
one of the doors was open, and had a heavy 
portiere hanging across it. Behind this was 
' young Mr. Noble ' ' peekin' ' most greedily, 
together with a middle-aged gentleman not 
described by the voluble parlor-maid. They 
did n't seem to notice me ; they were otherwise 
occupied, or perhaps they thought me one of 
the nurses or mothers. I had heard the sound 
of a piano as I crossed the hall, but it was still 
now. I crept behind ' young Mr. Noble,' and 
took a good ' peek ' into Paradise. 

" It was a very large room that looked as if it 

might have been built for a ball-room ; at least 
there was a wide, cushioned bench running 
around three sides of it, close to the wall. On 
one side, behind some black-and-gold Japanese 
screens, where they could hear and not be seen, 
sat a row of silent, capped and aproned nurse- 
maids, and bonneted mamas. Mrs. Bird was 
among them, lovely and serene as an angel still, 
though she has had her troubles. There was a 
great fireplace in the room, but it was banked 
up with purple and white lilacs. There was a 
bowl of the same flowers on the grand piano, 
and a clump of bushes sketched in chalk on a 
blackboard. Just then a lovely young girl 
walked from the piano and took a low chair in 
front of the fireplace. 

" Before her there were grouped ever so many 
children, twenty-five or thirty perhaps. The 
tots in the front rows were cozy and comfort- 
able on piles of cushions, and the seven- or eight- 
year-olds in the back row were in seats a little 
higher. Each child had a sprig of lilac in its 
hand. The young girl wore a soft white dress 
with lavender flowers scattered all over it, and 
a great bunch of the flowers in her belt. 

" She was a lovely creature ! At least, I be- 
lieve she was ! I have an indistinct remembrance 
that her enemies (if she has any) might call her 
hair red ; but I could n't stop looking at her 
long enough at the time to decide precisely 
what color it was. And I believe (now that 
several days have passed) that her nose turned 
up ; but at the moment, whenever I tried to 
see just how much it wandered from the Gre- 
cian outline, her eyes dazzled me and I never 
found out. 

" As she seated herself in their midst, the chil- 
dren turned their faces expectantly toward her, 
like flowers toward the sun. 

" ' You know it 's the last Monday, dears,' she 
said ; ' and we 've had our good-by story.' 

" ' Tell it again ! Sing it again ! ' came from 
two kilted adorers in the back row. 

" ' Not to-day; ' and she shook her head with 
a smile. 'You know we always stop within the 
hour, and that is the reason we are always 
eager to come again ; but this little sprig of lilac 
that you all hold in your hands has something 
to tell ; not a long story, just a piece of one for 
another good-by. I think when we go home, 




if we all press the flowers in heavy books and 
open the books sometimes while we are away 
from each other this summer, that the sweet 
fragrance will come to us again, and the little 
faded blossom will tell its own story to each 
one of us. And this is the story,' she said, as 
she turned her spray of lilac in her fingers. 

" There was once a little lilac-bush that grew 
by a child's window. There was no garden 
there, only a tiny bit of ground with a few 
green things in it; and because there were no 
trees in the crowded streets, the birds perched 
on the lilac-bush to sing, and two of them even 
built a nest in it once, for want of something 

" It had been a very busy lilac-bush all its 
life : drinking up moisture from the earth and 
making it into sap ; adding each year a tiny bit 
of wood to its slender trunk ; filling out its leaf- 
buds ; making its leaves larger and larger ; and 
then — oh, happy, happy time! — hanging its 
purple flowers here and there among the 

" It always felt glad of its hard work when 
Hester came to gather some of its flowers just 
before Easter Sunday. For one spray went to 
the little table where Hester and her mother 
ate together; one to Hester's teacher; one to 
the gray-stone church around the corner, and 
one to a little lame girl who sat, and sat, quite 
still day after day by the window of the next 

" But one year — this very last year, children — 
the lilac-bush grew tired of being good and 
working hard ; and the more it thought about 
it, the sadder and sorrier and more discouraged 
it grew. The winter had been dark and rainy; 
the ground was so wet that its roots felt slippery 
and uncomfortable ; there was some disagree- 
able moss growing on its smooth branches; the 
sun almost never shone ; the birds came but 
seldom ; and at last the lilac-bush said, ' I will 
give up ; I am not going to bud or bloom or do 
a single thing for Easter this year ! I don't 
care if my trunk does n't grow, nor my buds 
swell, nor my leaves grow larger ! If Hester 
wants her room shaded, she can pull the cur- 
tain down, and the lame girl can' — do with- 
out, it was going to say, but it did n't dare — oh, 

it did n't dare to think of the poor little lame 
girl without any flowers ; so it stopped short 
and hung its head. 

" Six or eight weeks ago, Hester and her 
mother went out one morning to see the lilac- 

" ' It does n't look at all as it ought,' said 
Hester, shaking her head sadly. ' The buds 
are very few, and they are all shrunken. See 
how limp and flabby the stems of the leaves 

" ' Perhaps it is dead,' said Hester's mother, 
' or perhaps it is too old to bloom.' 

(" ' I like that ! ' thought the lilac-bush. ' I 'm 
not dead and I 'm not dying, though I 'd just 
as lief die as to keep on working in this dark, 
damp, unpleasant winter, or spring, or whatever 
they call it; and as for being past blooming, I 
would just like to show her, if it was n't so 
much trouble ! How old does she think I am, 
I wonder ? There is n't a thing in this part 
of the city that is over ten years old, and I 
was n't planted first, by any means !') 

"And then Hester said, ' My darling, darling 
lilac-bush ! Easter won't be Easter without it ; 
and lame Jenny leans out of her window every 
day as I come from school, and asks, " Is the 
lilac budding ?" ' 

(" ' Oh, dear ! ' sighed the little bush. ' I 
wish she would n't talk that way ; it makes me 
so nervous to have Jenny asking questions 
about me ! It starts my sap circulating, and I 
shall grow in spite of me ! ') 

" ' Let us see what we can do to help it,' said 
Hester's mother. ' Take your trowel and dig 
round the roots first.' 

(" ' Guess they '11 get into a moist and sticky 
place, by the way I feel ! ' thought the lilac.) 

" ' Then put in some new earth, the richest 
you can get, and we '11 snip off* all the withered 
leaves and dry twigs, and see if it won't take a 
new start.' 

(" ' I shall have to, I believe, whether I like 
it or not, if they make such a fuss about me ! ' 
thought the lilac-bush. ' It seems a pity if a 
thing can't stop growing and be let alone and 
die if it wants to ! ') 

" But though it grumbled a little at first, it 
felt so much better after Hester and her mother 
had spent the afternoon caring for it, that it 

5 o8 


began to grow a little, just out of gratitude, — 
and what do you think happened ? 

" ' George Washington came and chopped it 
down with his little hatchet,' said an eager 
person in front. 

" ' The lame girl came to look at it,' sang out 
a small chap in the back row. 

" No," she answered, with an irrepressible 
smile ; " it was a cherry-tree that George Wash- 
ington chopped, Lucy ; and I told you, Arthur, 
that the poor little lame girl could n't walk a 
step. But the sun began to shine — that is 
the first thing that happened. Day after day 
the sun shone, because everything seems to 
help the people and the things that help them- 
selves. The rich earth gave everything it had 
to give for sap, and the warm air dried up the 
ugly moss that spoiled the beauty of its trunk. 

" Then the lilac-bush was glad again, and it 
could hardly grow fast enough because it knew 
it would be behind time, at any rate ; for of 
course it could n't stand still grumbling and 
doing nothing for weeks and get its work done 
as soon as the other plants. But it made sap 
all day long, and the buds grew into little leaves, 
and the little leaves into larger ones, and then 
it began to group its flower-buds among the 
branches. By this time it was the week before 
Easter, and it fairly sat up nights to work. 

" Hester knew that it was going to be more 
beautiful than it ever was in its life before (that 
was because it never tried so hard, though of 
course Hester could n't know that), but she 
was only afraid that it would n't bloom soon 
enough, it was so very late this spring. 

" But the very morning before Easter Sun- 
day, Hester turned in her sleep and dreamed 
that a sweet, sweet fragrance was stealing in 
at her open window. A few minutes later she 
ran across her room, and lo ! every cluster of 
buds on the lilac-bush had opened into purple 

flowers, and they were waving in the morning 
sunshine, as if to say, ' We are ready, Hester ! 
We are ready, after all ! ' 

•' And one spray was pinned in the teacher's 
dress, — it was shabby and black, — and she 
was glad of the flower because it reminded her 
of home. 

'■And one spray stood in a vase on Hester's 
dining-table. There was never very much din- 
ner in Hester's house, but they did not care 
that day, because the lilac was so beautiful. 

" One bunch lay on the table in the church, 
and one, the loveliest of all, stood in a cup of 
water on the lame girl's window-sill ; and when 
she went to bed that night she moved it to the 
table beside her head, and put her thin hand 
out to touch it in the dark, and went to sleep 

"And each of the lilac flowers was glad that 
the bush had bloomed." 

"The children drew a deep breath. They 
smoothed their flower-sprays gently, and one 
pale boy held his up to his cheek as if it had 
been a living thing. 

" ' Tell it again,' cried the tomboy. 

"'Is it true ?' asked the boy in kilts. 

" ' I think it is,' said the girl, gently. ' Of 
course, Tommy, the flowers never tell us their 
secrets in words; but I have watched that 
lilac-bush all through the winter and spring, 
and these are the very blossoms you are hold- 
ing to-day. It seems true, does n't it ? ' 

"'Yes,' they said thoughtfully. 

" ' Shall you press yours, Miss Pauline, and 
will it tell you a story, too, when you look at 
it ? ' asked one little tot as they all crowded 
about her for a good-by kiss. 

" Miss Pauline caught her up in her arms, 
and I saw her take the child's apron and wipe 
away a tear as she said, ' Yes, dear, it will tell 
me a story, too, — a long, sad, sweet, helpful 


* THE * 

* EMD * 


By Ensign John M. Ellicott, U. S. N. 


Near a small town on the coast of Spain, at 
the junction of two little rivers, on a high bluff 
close to the sea, there stood four hundred years 
ago a low, irregular building with plastered 
walls, and red-tiled roof surmounted by an 
iron cross. It was the convent of La Rabida, 
and on the night of August 2, 1492, there 
slept in one of its little upper rooms a stranger, 
gaunt and solemn, a guest of the monks. He 
was a man who had become known all through 

southern Europe as a crank. Yet his theories 
were so fascinating that he was listened to 
with interest even by kings, but always dis- 
missed with a smile of pity for his foolish- 
ness, and a sigh of regret that his route to 
untold wealth and an undiscovered country 
should be impossible. At last, however, 
this man Columbus, a Genoese mariner, 
had gained audience in Spain with Isabella 
of Castile, wife of Ferdinand of Aragon, and 
her woman's imagination had been fired 
with enthusiasm, and her woman's heart 
filled with a generous desire to aid the bold ex- 
plorer in making his search into the terrible west- 
ern ocean. Even with the necessary money, the 
determined man was driven almost to despair 
in his unsuccessful efforts to induce others to 
join in bis enterprise ; but destiny finally guided 
him to the little town of Palos, and there he 
found another mariner adventurous like himself, 
who was besides a man of wealth and action 
and an owner of ships. Thus it happened that 




by August i, 1492, three little ships were ready 
to set sail from Palos upon the dangerous 

The guest of the monks had passed a restless, 
anxious night; and, several times before the first 
golden streaks of dawn lighted up the little 
square window cut through the thick wall, he 
had arisen and climbed to the roof of the con- 
vent to look for the favoring breeze which would 
waft him westward. At last such a visit brought 
him exultant joy, for across the plains of south- 
ern Spain, still wreathed in the mists of the morn- 
ing, straight from the blue hills outlined against 
the golden sunrise there came the favoring east- 
erly breeze, all fragrant with the odor of herbs 
and blossoms. Then he turned to look down 
upon his little fleet anchored in the river at the 
foot of the bluff: one of them fairly large, but 
the other two tiny craft in which even the bold- 
est might hesitate to venture far from land. 

The opportunity for which he had prepared 
himself since childhood had at last come! What 
solemn thoughts must have filled the mind 
of that deep-thinking man as he stood on the 
roof of La Rabida in the early daylight, and 
gazed from his little fleet out across that great 
ocean into which no human being had dared to 
lead the way, — which even intelligent men of his 
time believed to be filled with strange, fierce 
monsters, and to be frequently visited by most 
terrible storms. 

There was no time then, however, to harbor 
such disturbing thoughts. The time for action 
had come, and Columbus descended from the 
roof to join the monks, already astir. With 
them he went down into the little chapel for a 
last solemn communion with God within its 
walls. Then the monks escorted him and his 
followers to the beach, and he was rowed to the 
ships with his head bowed to receive a final 
blessing. The sails, upon which were big red 
crosses, were spread to the wind, and a breath- 
less, wondering crowd watched the ships as 
they glided down the river, and slowly away, 
until lost to sight below the distant horizon. 
Not one in the onlooking crowd expected to 
see those little caravels again, and mothers, sis- 
ters, and wives wept for the departed ones as if 
they had died. In fact, the largest of the three 
ships never returned, for she was wrecked one 

calm night by drifting upon a coral reef on the 
coast of Hayti. 

Many months afterward a little caravel, tat- 
tered and broken and stained by terrible storms, 
sailed into Lisbon, bringing back the intrepid 
explorer; and Christopher Columbus marched 
in triumph across Spain to stand before Ferdi- 
nand and Isabella at Barcelona, no longer a 
poor crank from Genoa, but a great discoverer 
from a new world ! 

We all know how another turn of the wheel 
of fortune was in store for this strange man, and 
how, instead of honors, he was loaded with 
chains and brought back from a final trip to his 
newly discovered lands to die broken-hearted. 
The continents which his genius discovered 
were named after an Italian map-maker; and, 
when the great discoverer died, people juggled 
with his bones until it became uncertain where 
they lay. His discovery proved to be of such 
magnitude, that he himself was utterly forgotten 
while nations vied with one another to explore 
the new lands to their utmost limits, and strove 
keenly for the possession of the fairer parts. 

Columbus had torn away the veil of super- 
stition and ignorance which had hidden the 
western ocean, and had shown to the aston- 
ished nations new lands of dazzling beauty and 
fabulous wealth. There had been a moment of 
breathless amazement during which the great- 
ness of the discoverer was not less than the 
magnitude of his discovery. Then he was 
pushed aside and trampled out of sight in the 
greedy rush to secure the riches. In his New 
World, the first century after his discovery was 
a century of plunder, the second a century of 
settlement, and the third a century of growth. 
Nobody thought of Columbus during three 
centuries of selfishness. Then came a great 
reaction. At the end of those three centu- 
ries, people in the New World were no longer 
adventurers. They had been born and brought 
up in it ; they had cultivated and developed it ; 
and at last they came together and said, This 
land is now ours and we should rule it. To the 
centuries of plunder and settlement and growth 
was then added a fourth — the century of in- 
dependence ; and during this fourth century 
the absence of plunder and contention gave 
time for reflection, and a grateful people looked 



back to see to whom they owed the possession 
of their fair land. Back through the three 
centuries of selfish strife they looked, until his- 
tory brought before them one man whose brain 
alone had believed in the existence of their 
land, and whose conviction had carried him 
ever onward through years of derision and dis- 
favor, and in frail craft across terrible unknown 
seas until he had proven his conception to be 
a glorious truth. Honor at last was bestowed 
where honor was due, and during the century 
of independence in the New World, Columbus 
and Columbia became the names of countries 
and cities and rivers; and as the century is 
now closing, the Old World vies with the New 
in honors to the great explorer. 

Could Columbus, therefore, have stood again 
on the roof of La Rabida on the morning of 
October 12, 1892, at first glance he might al- 
most have thought that his sleep of ages had 
been the sleep of a single night. He would 
have found about him the same familiar gables 
of the little convent, the same undulating plains 
of southern Spain, the same sluggish, muddy 
rivers, Tinto and Odiel; and, riding at anchor in 
the former, his own three caravels, the " Santa 
Maria," " Pinta," and " Nina " ! But as he 
glanced up the Odiel toward Huelva, he would 
have seen a strange, perplexing sight. Immense 
ships, almost grotesque in shape, were rushing 
down the river, moving swiftly without sails and 
without wind, while from big chimneys poured 
volumes of black smoke as if they were on fire 
within. On their decks were guns of enormous 
size, and from masthead to masthead flew flags 
and banners the discoverer had never seen. 
Rounding the point, these ships dropped anchor 
near the convent, dwarfing his little caravels to 
pygmies. Just where he had embarked, bodies 
of troops in strange uniforms were landed on a 
new pier, and marched toward the convent. 
From the ships, countless officers in brilliant uni- 


forms landed and formed in two lines the whole 
length of the pier. Behind them crowded the 
gaping populace (like that other throng of 1492, 
on the memorable morning of his departure). 

Then from the leading ship came a boat bear- 
ing a purple standard; and, when it reached 
the steps of the new pier, there stepped ashore, 
amid the thundering roar of the heavy cannon, 
a sad-faced woman and a fair-haired boy — the 
Queen Regent and the little King of Spain. 
The officers in line bared their heads and bowed 
low as these two passed, while from the press- 
ing crowd came cries of "The Queen! The 
King ! " In a carriage drawn by four fine horses, 
these two, with their attendants, were driven be- 
tween the lines of soldiers up a broad avenue 
toward the convent; and, following them with 
his eyes, the great Columbus would have turned 
until he beheld rising in rear of the convent a 
tall white shaft of marble, capped by a bronze 
globe and surmounted by a cross. Then he 
would have seen the queen and the little king 
enthroned in a purple-curtained pavilion before 
this monument, the officers of strange nations 
forming an avenue between, the troops drawn 
up in radiating lines about it, and the populace 
massed in thousands upon the hillsides. And 
as the silver-robed bishops knelt in solemn cere- 
mony upon the steps of the monument, he 
would have seen inscribed thereon in flaming 
letters of gold his own name, " Christobal Co- 
lon," and beneath it two dates — 1492-1892. 
Then would he have known that those monster 
ships which he had seen moving without wind 
or sails represented four centuries of maritime 
progress, and those strange flags, four centuries 
of political changes; while that concourse of 
people was the gathering of all Spain, from 
royalty to populace, and of all the nations of the 
earth, to honor his memory ; and that in spite 
of chains and disfavor in his lifetime, his great- 
ness had survived him four hundred years. 

VERY year, as the summer 
season approaches, the 
salmon of the Atlantic 
ocean leave their feeding- 
grounds in the northern 
seas and enter the clear, cool rivers of the 
extreme eastern United States and the Cana- 
dian Provinces. Impelled by a singular instinct, 
this noble fish, day after day, week after week, 
works its way toward the heads of the streams, 
up the swiftest rapids and through the quiet 
pools, leaping every obstruction. During the 
whole summer this great army pushes onward, 
dividing at the forks of a river and breaking up 
into still smaller bands where tributaries enter. 
Of the great multitude that left the ocean, every 
fish has reached the very spot, the very pool 
where it was born and lived the first eight 
months of its life — except the many that never 
passed the cruel nets, and those that jumped at 
the beautiful flies which are tied to long silken 
lines, or else, dazzled by the gleam of torches, 
were pulled into canoes by men with spears. 

At length the object of their weary march is 
attained, and so the army disbands. The long 
journey has been conducted in a leisurely way, 
only a few miles each day, but with wonderful 
persistence. Enemies in the water, fishermen 
with rods and reels, and poachers with spears 
thin their ranks ; but those that reach their 
homes at the heads of the rivers are protected 

by a wise law, which prohibits their capture 
from the time when they begin to lay their eggs 
until the anchor ice, choking the streams, drives 
back to the sea the fish, now lean and hungry 
with long fasting ; for the salmon is a dainty 
feeder in its summer home, touching the most 
tempting and alluring flies only occasionally. 
Yet, a tiny young salmon, called a " parr," 
having attained the first six or eight inches of 
its length in fresh water, returns the following 
year a year-old salmon, or " grilse," of four 
pounds weight. 

Along the banks of nearly every salmon 
river, live people who regard the fish in the 
waters before their doors not as objects of 
sport alone, but as a supply of food. Those 
who value the animal or fish itself, without 
being particular about the means of getting 
it, are contemptuously spoken of by the true 
sportsman as " pot-hunters." All these people, 
of whom the most are white men, but some are 
Indians, are poor ; and they believe that fish in 
the streams should be free to all. Some, in- 
deed, resent any legal interference with the 
right they claim to take a salmon at any sea- 
son, even on the spawning-beds, — which is 
quite wrong ; but the more intelligent of them, 
while granting the need of some protection, do, 
however, feel to be a hardship the law which 
allows one set of men to kill a fish in one way 
and prevents, or aims to prevent, another set of 

the same thins 


men from doing the same thing in a different Is the spear too destructive ? One club 

way. of American gentlemen that fishes in a Cana- 

The sportsman uses a fly and worries the fish dian river caught, with the fly, over fourteen 

for perhaps several hours, and often is able to thousand pounds in one year, and paid four 

buy from the Government the exclusive right to thousand dollars to wardens to prevent poach - 


fish, for he is generally wealthy or belongs to a ing. A gentleman belonging to another club, 

rich club. The other man is not allowed to as a result of a few weeks' work with the 

use his spear, and often is prevented from fish- fly, sent home eighty salmon, fished on Sunday 

ing at all. He cannot understand why this in defiance of a club rule, and was the one 

should be so, and so he becomes a poacher, man of his club hardest upon the poor poach- 
Vol. XX.- 33. 




ers who ran the gantlet of his wardens 
and caught a fish or two. 

Now, every man there, and every 
boy, too, who is big enough to hold 
a ten-foot spruce pole with a pair of 
wooden jaws tied to one end, is a 
poacher, — all but the fish-wardens, who 
would be poachers if they were not war- 
dens, and who are suspected of slyly 
doing a little fishing, " unbeknownst"; 
for, as Charles Kingsley quaintly puts 
it, " a gamekeeper is only a poacher 
turned inside out." 

Now, think of standing in a canoe 
twenty-four inches wide, and striking 
a fish in nine feet of water as it darts 
swiftly past ! I have stood in the stern 
of such a canoe and seen it done by 
a poacher who could n't tell one fly 
from another — a Jock Scott from a 
Silver Doctor. Are the men who fish 
with flies more skilful ? 

Two men have built a camp on the 
bank of the best and most beautiful 
pool to be found on a celebrated 
salmon river in Canada. Gentlemen 
from the city are whipping the deep 
black pools with slender rods, out of 
canoes propelled by Indians, while war- 
dens keep watch at night, many, many 
miles below where these men are. But 
the water runs swiftly and is rough, 
and the rocks have sharp edges that 
cut ; so the lazy Indians never take 
their passengers to that distant spot, 
near the river's source, nor care to risk 
their frail birch canoes. Only bears 
and moose and greedy, trout and great, 
glistening salmon live there, and it is 
too far away to be guarded by men. 
With high hills on both sides, and 
a wilderness of black spruce and fir 
growing to the water's edge, except 
for a fringe of tall grass, lies this pool. 
It is as clear as a crystal, and on quiet 
SPEAR ' days as smooth as a looking-glass — 
the only breathing-spot in a little mountain 
river, two rods wide, that for the next twenty 
miles of its course does not cease to rush, roar, 
and tumble. The water above it, noisily splash- 

ing over a shallow bar where the pebbles are 
like cobblestones, suddenly stops. The bottom 
drops away to a depth of a dozen feet, and a 
little procession of bubbles and patches of 
white foam lingering on the surface close to the 
left-hand bank barely shows where the current 
is. Then the pool widens, and assumes a broad 
triangular shape. The bottom, now covered 
with soft, sparkling sand, gradually rises nearer 
and nearer to the surface, until, without a mur- 
mur or an effort, the water drips in a broad 
expanse over the edge of a sandy bar as if 
poured from a large pan. Then moving faster, 
it passes around the small grassy islands, joins 
into one stream behind them, and hurries on 
again, noisy after its short rest. Moose and 
caribou (which are like reindeer) come down 
here at night to drink, and splash the water 
with their hoofs, and leave traces in the sand 
that men can find by daylight. 

It is the month of August. Among the 
rough trunks of the spruces, upon a high bank 
overlooking the water, the two men have built 
their hasty camp. Two forked poles, higher 
than one's head, have been driven six feet apart 
into the soft, moss-carpeted earth. A long 
pole has been laid across the top of these, and 
other poles leaned against it. These in turn 
are covered with wide, flat, evergreen boughs 
for a roof, but the sides of this camp are open. 
Small evergreens are also strewn thickly upon 
the ground beneath for a bed, and dry logs of 
spruce piled high in front, with tall stakes 
driven behind them, are blazing merrily, and 
making the hut comfortable for the approaching 
night. A large supply of dry logs for the fire 
during the night lies within easy reach, for 
the men have only their coats to put over them, 
and the night will be cold, although it is sum- 
mer-time. The tea-kettle is boiling over the 
blaze, and the fat bacon is sizzling in the frying- 
pan upon the red coals. 

One of the two in this party is a stranger, a 
young man from the city. But as he is there 
to learn, and to see for the first time that 
which is about to take place, the reader is not 
concerned with him further than to remember 
that he has lately been taught somewhat of 
the wonderful things to be seen in the woods, 
that he is fairly expert with the paddle, and 

'8 9 3-: 



stands in the stem of the canoe behind the 
man with the spear. The other, accustomed to 
the ways of the woods, was by turns a lumber- 
man, a hunter, and a trapper. He had lived his 
life on the banks of that same river, was the 
father of two as irrepressible young scamps as 
ever were chased by fish-wardens, and had in 
his own time taken many a fish. Not a man 
in that country had there been who was more 
at home in a canoe, and quicker or surer of his 
aim. But now he is an old man whose head is 
turning gray, and whose ruddy, good-natured 
face, wherever it is not covered with the bounti- 
ful beard, is showing a few wrinkles. He has 
turned over to his boys whatever right he may 
have had to levy toll upon the finny travelers 
on the river highway, and has not speared a 
fish for several years. 

The early supper eaten, they at once make 
preparations for the evening's work. After a 
few minutes' search, half a dozen paper-birches 
are found, from which large sheets of thick 
bark are peeled. These, folded into bundles 
about a foot and a half long, five inches wide, 
and of half a dozen thicknesses of bark, are 
tied in several places with bands of tough bark 
stripped from a small cedar. Fifteen or twenty 
such bundles are made ready; then the spear — 
it has been made only a few days before and 
put into the bottom of the canoe. It is a 
stout pole of peeled spruce, two inches in di- 
ameter and ten feet long. A slender bar of 
iron, sharpened like a chisel or screw-driver, 
is set into one end, and projects forward six 
inches; and a pair of "jaws," each fifteen inches 
long and three inches across the blade, whittled 
out of tough rock-maple, are lashed with stout 
twine upon each side of the iron point. They 
spread seven inches apart. These jaws are 
shaped upon the inner side in such a way that 
when a salmon is struck they open and slip 
around the body of the fish, preventing its es- 
cape. Next a stick, five feet long, is cut, and 
the larger end split down several inches. This 
is set upright in the bow of the canoe, in a hole 
made for that purpose. Into the split end, 
which is uppermost, a bundle of birch-bark is 
thrust, firmly held by the middle. Half a dozen 
more bundles are laid in the canoe amidships. 
Frequently a canoe built of birch-bark is used, 

but this one is the kind known as a pirogue. It 
is twenty-four feet long, two feet wide, very 
shallow, with upturned bow and stern, and is 
carved from a light pine log. It is painted 
black, which suits its nightly work. 

All being ready, the old man steps aboard 
with the spear, and takes his place in the bow. 
The torch in front is lighted, and with a crackle 
like the frying of grease the flame leaps up- 
ward, and with its yellow glare lights up the 
bushes, the nearer tree-trunks, and the surface 
of the water. Quickly stepping in also, the 
stern-man, with a long pole in lieu of paddle, 
gives a push or two, and the canoe glides out 
on the surface of the pool. But it is too 
quickly done, for the pool, shallow there, is 
lighted to the very bottom as with the light of 
day, and several huge black objects move 
away into the deep and somber places. With 
a splash the spear is quickly thrust down into 
the water after a departing shadow, but it is too 
late. Then the canoe is cautiously driven to- 
ward the deeper place at the head of the pool, 
and as it nears the other end, one, two, six, ten, 
twenty great shadowy forms dart, one after the 
other, toward the foot of the pool, past them. 

The torch has now burned down. Detached 
portions of the bark drop into the water and 
float off, still burning, while those that fall into 
the canoe are trampled out. A new bundle is put 
in and set aflame. The canoe is turned about, 
and slowly moves back. . Down goes the spear, 
not with a splash, but with a steady thrust. It 
strikes the bottom, but the fish is already sev- 
eral feet away, and it is drawn back empty. 
Several times this happens. Has the old man 
lost his former skill ? Soon he suspects that 
the new pole, like a bright streak moving toward 
them, frightens them. 

A new supply of bark is needed, so they return 
to the camp. The spear is held over the fire 
until it is blackened from end to end and is no 
longer conspicuous. So confident is the old 
hunter of getting a fish, that he makes ready to 
eat him at once. He pokes up the fire, throws 
on some fresh wood, and sets a kettle of water 
to boil. He peels some potatoes, which he has 
brought along (perhaps for the very purpose), 
and puts them into the water. 

Meanwhile the salmon have recovered, doubt- 



less, from their first scare. So, with a fresh sup- 
ply of torches, they start again, — this time with 
more deliberation, for the long black pirogue 
has not entered the length of itself upon the 
pool, before down goes the spear. Hand over 
hand it is pushed and, it seems, will never stop. 
It reaches the sandy bottom and sticks there. 
It sways as if something is tugging at the end 
of it. Then, as he would lift a load of hay on 
a pitchfork, the old man gradually raises the 
end of the spear. Out comes a black nose, 
then there is a flapping and splashing of fins and 
powerful tail, and the first salmon is caught. 
Quickly the old man draws the fish to the side 
of the canoe, lifts it on board, caught and held 
firmly by the stout jaws. It is released, and lies 
upon the bottom of the canoe — only a four- 
pounder. Only a four-pounder, the smallest 
one of the whole crowd, when plenty of them 
looked as big as stove-pipes ! And there was 
one, much bigger than any of the rest, which 
looked fully four feet long. Sometimes, when 
those big fellows do get caught, the spearman 
lets go entirely, and when the fish is exhausted 
with the violence of its efforts, it may be easily 
drawn in. It would be hard to say which is 
more excited over the capture — the stranger, 
who never saw such a thing done before, or 
the old man, to whom all the enthusiasm of his 
younger days seems to have returned. 

The potatoes can almost be smelled at this 
distance. So the salmon is opened down the 
back, and in a little while it, or the greater por- 
tion thereof, is in the kettle with the savory 
potatoes, which are nearly done, but need 
more cooking than a fish. 

It is approaching midnight, a slight fog lies 
upon the water, and the night air is unpleas- 
antly cool, chilling the bare hands of the two 
fishermen. So they linger there in the bright 
light of the fire, and notwithstanding the excite- 
ment of the first catch, are loath to leave it. 
But the younger man must try his luck, and 
besides there must be at least one salmon to 

take away with them. So, next time, the two 
exchange places. The younger one imitates the 
older. He stands in front, and gazes intently 
downward, with uplifted pole. One after the 
other the great fish dart ahead, shoot past, or 
rush directly into the friendly shadow of the 
canoe underneath. Now here, now there, goes 
the pole. It fails to reach bottom, and, deceived 
by the great clearness of the water which brings 
the bottom so near, the novice nearly falls over- 
board. Now the spear-points strike the sand, 
but not within three feet of even a salmon's 
shadow. It is like wing-shooting, and requires 
as much skill. 

Then the old man takes the spear. By this 
time half the fish have left, for the splashing 
of their tails in the rapids above is frequently 
heard. Several times he misses, but presently 
the pole goes down its whole length. It bends 
and sways for a moment, but by a turn of the 
wrist the fish is pointed upward, and works its 
own way to the top. Then the water is lashed 
into foam again by the powerful fish, and it 
threatens to break away; but it is not until it lies 
in the canoe that its size can be determined. It 
is another of the smaller ones, and although a 
ten-pound fish, is not the big one we hoped it 
to be. 

Next turn, however (for they wish to make 
another trial before leaving), as the canoe is 
moving with a scarcely perceptible motion 
toward the foot of the pool, the old man 
partly bends over, the better to see and to 
escape the glare of the torch, peers into the 
depths below, now to his left, now to his right, 
not noticing the sluggish suckers that also were 
moving about on the bottom. Suddenly a great 
shadow leaps from out of the darkness ahead 
and shoots straight for the shade of the canoe. 
Quick as a flash the spear goes out to meet it. 
The canoe reels with the violence of the move- 
ment. The torch, now burned in two, falls with 
a blaze into the water, blinding the eyes. The 
spear falls short a foot, and the big fish is safe ! 


By Helen Gray Cone. 

Oh, for Venice, and opal days Lo, the garden is flushed anew ; 

Made of die May-time's rosy haze Faintly smiling, the sky looks through 

And the sheen of the pale-green waterways! Light young leaves, that laugh to the blue. 

Swerving gondola, swiftly glide ! Chasing shadows and sunbeams gay 

Bear us back to the garden-side, Touch the Cupids of marble gray; 

Where the dappled canal is cool and wide. They are old, and cold, and will not play. 

Rich reflections that flow and fleet, Better a wingless boy to be, 

Spread with colors the liquid street Brown and ruddy and full of glee, 

For the tread of the spring wind's viewless feet. Taking his share of the sun and sea ! 

Oh, for Venice, when comes the spring 

Gem-like days on the deep to fling, 

That gleam and are gone, like the Doge's ring ! 


By Tudor Jenks. 

If there is one date fixed in the minds of 
young America, it is that of a voyage accom- 
plished by an Italian navigator some four hun- 
dred years ago. It may therefore be taken 
for granted that any child who can add four 
hundred to 1492 understands why, as 1892 
approached, America decided to give a great 
party and to invite all the world with his wife 
and children. 

She gave a party seventeen years ago ; but 
most of the present readers of St. Nicholas 
were unavoidably absent. This one they can 
understand ; and as chief custodians of the 
date it celebrates, they have a keen interest 
in seeing what preparations their fathers and 
mothers are making to entertain their millions 
of guests. 

They will be glad to know that there is no 
intention of falling behind the rest of the world. 
There have been other affairs of the sort. The 
first to which all nations were truly welcome 
was, at the suggestion of Albert the Prince Con- 
sort, carried out by England. As one of that 
nation's clever sons had lately been construct- 
ing an enormous hothouse for the flowers of 
a noble duke, he built for this occasion a 
great Crystal Palace, one third of a mile long 
and four hundred feet wide. Queen Victoria 
and twenty-five thousand other people met 
here on the first day, and some five million 
natives and foreigners called in during the 
next five months to see the Koh-i-noor dia- 
mond and whatever else British soldiers had 
acquired or British workmen had made. A 
million dollars over expenses, and the more 
valuable lessons learned by English manufac- 
turers, made this first exhibition a most profit- 
able one. It taught that things might be made 
beautiful as well as strong and serviceable. 

Several imitations soon followed, one a New 
York Crystal Palace in what is now Bryant 
Park. But the imitations had little success, 

and the New York glass house was burned 
down. Paris in 1798 had begun national ex- 
hibitions under Napoleon's direction, but their 
object was to injure English trade; a gold 
medal was offered for that purpose, and foreign 
products were shut out. In 1855, Paris fol- 
lowed London's more hospitable example, and 
added besides a collection of the works of liv- 
ing artists — the English exhibition being one of 
inventions and manufactures. London opened 
another show in 1862, also with an art exhibi- 
tion ; but the death of Prince Albert and the 
war in our own country were serious drawbacks 
to its success. 

There have been four other notable exhibi- 
tions. Paris in 1867 added to former features 
models of mankind's dwellings, from tents to 
palaces ; Vienna in 1873 made a great na- 
tional museum out of her Exposition buildings; 
America, for her centennial, put up two hun- 
dred great halls, and especially excelled in 
showing agricultural products ; and Paris held 
her centennial in 1889, climbing a thousand 
feet into the air in celebration of her republics. 

The greatest of these former shows filled 
about seventy acres of ground and cost ten mil- 
lions. The Chicago Fair will require more 
than a hundred and fifty acres for its buildings 
alone, and will certainly cost twenty-two mil- 
lions — figures quite large enough to fill young 
Americans with satisfaction, when they take out 
their slates and compute that Paris in 1889, 
Philadelphia in 1876, and Vienna in 1873 
would not, combined, «qual the Columbian fair 
in area. 

Four cities competed for the place of host to 
the world, and Chicago was chosen by Con- 
gress. And that young city will be its own 
proudest exhibit. So long as America was colo- 
nized territory, it could have little to show in 
glory of its discoverer. But when, in 1S76, our 
young nation cut her leading-strings, crying to 




the world, " See ! I can walk alone ! " the glory 
of Columbus was begun. The history of Chi- 
cago covers hardly more than the period of our 
existence as a nation. 

Some humorist said, " the first white man to 
settle on the site of Chicago was a black man." 
His most ingenious paradox refers to an escaped 
slave from San Domingo who traded there with 
the Indians in 1779; and Cornwallis did not 
surrender until 1781 — and he would n't have 
yielded then if Washington had not insisted 
upon it. In 1803, on the Fourth of July, a 
United States sloop came to establish Fort 
Dearborn on the Chicago River. The Indians 
did not like this, as we learn from the " American 
Gazetteer" for 1804, under the entry: "[see 
Chiago river, Appendix]." The appendix tells 
how the government of the United States, " hav- 
ing lately determined to erect a fort at Chiago," 
the officer in spite of Indian threats declared 
that he was sent to build a fort, and would 
" proceed on with the design." 

In 18 1 2, the Indians killed most of the gar- 
rison while they were trying to escape to Fort 
Wayne, but a survivor, John Kinzie, afterward 
returned and became the first real settler. The 
fort being rebuilt in 1816, a village was begun 
near its walls, but the city was not incorporated 
until 1837 — the very year Queen Victoria came 
to the throne. 

Now. fifty-six years later, Chicago has 
1,400,000 inhabitants, and invites the nations 
to ride to the top of buildings twenty stories 
high that they may get an idea of the second 
great city of the Western world. 

What can the great Fair show that is a bet- 
ter proof of American pluck, capacity, and 
achievement ? Nor need we mention the great 
fire at all, so entirely have its ravages been 

There is a well-known story of a Westerner 
who claimed that his lot was " in the center 
of the town, which was in the center of the 
county, that was the central county of the 
State in the center of the country in the center 
of the world ! " and, when asked to prove it, 
replied, with an eloquent sweep of the arm, 
" See how nicely the sky fits down all round ! " 
A claim more modest and better founded may 
be made that Chicago is the center of North 

American population — certainly it is the focus 
of routes of travel ; and this situation is a strong 
reason why it should direct the great Fair. 

On the anniversary of the discoverv, the ex- 
hibition was formally dedicated in the largest 
building; and more than a hundred thousand 
people felt lonely in the forty-four acres of floor 
space. But, in accordance with the act of Con- 
gress, the actual opening will take place on the 
first of May, 1893 — an excellent day to be 
called early if you are to be present. The 
President of the United States, perhaps with 
the electric assistance by cable of King Alfonso, 
Spain's boy-king, will set the great engines in 
motion by the touching of a knob. 

And what will be seen by the lucky — or de- 
serving — boys and girls among the millions 
upon the grounds ? One might reply that 
Aladdin's lamp could be left at the door as a 
useless bit of baggage. So much will press 
upon the attention that the lamp would be 
unrubbed and forgotten. But at least it will 
be well to have a general idea of where things 
are grouped. Look at the general plan. (See 
p. 518.) 

It shows a great city upon the shores of 
Lake Michigan, and surrounding an artificial 
waterway called the Lagoon, in which are two 
islands. About the Lagoon are the larger build- 
ings, and (as Mrs. Richards forcibly said in a 
recent St. Nicholas poem) " Some of them 
are whackers, oh ! " A canal leads southward 
past a great basin. These bodies of water con- 
vert the Fair grounds into a Venice of pal- 
aces—a resemblance that is increased by the 
marble-like material of the buildings. This 
material, called "staff," is lighter than wood, 
may be colored and molded at pleasure, and is 
fire-proof. It is a composition of plaster, ce- 
ment, and a fiber, and will last for years if 

North of the main buildings is a park where 
the buildings of the States and of foreign na- 
tions are grouped about the superb art-galleries. 
Southward are the warehouses and live-stock 
sheds. Along the shore of Lake Michigan are 
docks, harbors, the naval exhibit, the model of 
the convent of La Rabida, a life-saving exhibi- 
tion, and other amphibious creatures that should 
be near the water. 




Keeping this general plan 
in mind, the whereabouts of 
the great buildings will be 
clearly understood, especially 
if one refers to the map when 
puzzled. How the grounds 
will look to visitors who come 
from the southwest in a fly- 
ing-machine may be seen from 
the same picture. Little boys 
in such an aerial vessel will 
first ask, " What is that big 
building in the middle?" 
Then their guide will draw a 
long breath and answer that 
it is the building of Manufac- 
tures and Liberal Arts, the 
largest building that ever was 
in all the world. If they 
say, " How big is it?" he will 
tell them that it is four times 
as large as the Coliseum, 
where the Dying Gladiator 
lay. It is longer than the 
span of the Brooklyn Bridge 
from tower to tower, covers 
five times the space of City 
Hall Park in New York, and 
five eighths that cf the Boston 
Common. It would furnish 
room for twenty regulation 
foot-ball fields, and would 
hold all the people that could 
be accommodated in the Ro- 
man Coliseum, St. Peter's, 
Milan Cathedral, St. Paul's of 
Rome, St. Paul's of London, 
Notre Dame of Paris, and yet 
admit thirty or forty thousand 
stragglers. Twenty-eight such 
buildings would cover Central 
Park. On the other hand, 
270,000,000 of these massive 
buildings could be placed end 
to end between the earth and 
the sun, and would fall a 
long way short; so there is 
no danger of crowding the 

But it is not an ugly giant, 





as can be seen when viewed critically. What 
a roof to fly kites from ! It is an unsupported 
arch two hundred feet from the floor. The 
Bunker Hill monument, placed inside, would 
project only a few feet above the roof — hardly 
enough to look like a respectable chimney. At 
the four corners and middle of each wall grace- 
ful pavilions or doorways give variety and im- 
pressiveness to the great expanse, which is 
further relieved bv banners alonsr the roofs. 

This building offers a standard by which to 
measure its neighbors; yet it does not dwarf 
the rest, some of which claim distinction for 
qualities other than mere size. The Parthenon 
is smaller than the Great Pyramid, but there is 
no doubt which is the finer structure. 

The Agricultural and the Machinery build- 
ings, the next in size, stand side by side south- 
ward across the Basin from their big brother. 
The first is richly adorned with sculptures relat- 

'893- . 


ing to agriculture ; the second is ranked by 
many architects next in magnificence of ap- 
pearance to the Administration Building — the 
latter being considered the best piece of archi- 
tectural design in the whole Fair. The twin 
brethren of Agriculture and Machinery are 
connected like the Siamese brothers, by an im- 
mense roofed gallery facing an extension of the 
canal, and connected with each is an annex to 
hold whatever may be crowded out. 

The railroads will bring their millions to a 
station westward of the Administration Build- 
ing, and most visitors will first pass through 
this superb gateway to the grounds. Because 
it opens upon four great avenues, it is in the 
form of a cross — a domed center supported 
upon four square halls. As the headquarters 
of the officials of the Fair, it is as rich in de- 


feet harmony with the nearer buildings, and 
sculptured groups set upon prominent points 
give elegance and distinction to this isolated 

Passing beneath these domes, we come upon 
the Court and Basin ; and in the latter are seen 
two features of the Fair. At its outer end, stand- 
ing one hundred feet from the water surface, is 
a colossal and majestic statue of " The Repub- 
lic"; and, facing it, an antique galley of bronze, 
sixty feet in length, is propelled by figures repre- 
senting the arts and sciences, while far aloft 
Columbia is proudly enthroned. Father Time 
is at the tiller, and makes gallant efforts to steer 
with his scythe, after which one would not be 
surprised to see him take observations through 
his hour-glass. 

To Transportation, Mining, and Electricity 


sign and in sculptured ornament as good taste 
permits. Its gilded dome, high above all sur- 
roundings, will be the conspicuous center of the 
whole. This dome is double, and the interior, 
lower, dome is higher than that of the Capitol 
at Washington. The corner halls are in per- 

are dedicated three great buildings between the 
Administration Hall and the Lagoon. Of the 
first, the most striking feature is the " Golden 
Doorway," facing the Lagoon — a set of Moor- 
ish arches displaying $60,000 worth of gold- 
leaf, marked with arabesques, and decorated 






i— i 
















by panels of carvings and paintings. These 
show the progress from the ancient ox-cart and 
war-chariot to the modern ocean steamer and 
express train. A Moorish cupola, and arched 
windows, give unity to the whole building. 
From the cupola, reached by eight elevators, is 
an impressive view of the court. Within the 
main Transportation Building will be whole bat- 
talions of locomotives, and 
everything that goes, from 
go-cart to electric motors. 

The home of Mines and 
Mining is a simply de- 
signed, impressive hall for 
the reception of ores and 
mining-tools, machinery 
and appliances. Part of 
the building material shows 
polished marbles that are 
themselves an exhibit. 

This heavy, solid, and 
massive building is in fit- 
ting contrast to the neigh- 
boring dwelling of Elec- 
tricity. The latter, of more 
elegant design, is light, 
graceful, and varied in 
outline. The doorways 
are more imposing, and 
statues lend their poetic 
power to do honor to the 
favorite child of our own 
time — a youngster from 
whose healthy precocity 
we may expect wonders. 
While the blaze of arc and 
incandescent lights will 
banish night from all the 
Park, here especially will 
the new light spring from 
pole to pole, and be 
shown in hitherto unknown 

magnificence and profusion — glittering from 
roofs, towers, and windows, and from fifty-four 
lofty masts that will bear banners by day. The 
Electricity Building will be rich in colored 
ornament grouped within its porticos and es- 
pecially in the great recessed doorway. 

A statue of Franklin, of heroic size, occupies 
the place of honor beneath the dome of the 

porch. He is shown grasping the key that un- 
locked the thunder-clouds, and the kite-line, 
along which came the first electric message. 
Morse and Vail have statues set in places only- 
less conspicuous. 

Directly facing the length of the Lagoon is 
that unequaled conservatory known as Horticul- 
tural Hall, and between its front and the shore 


will be the floral display. From these flower- 
beds we will pause and cull a few blossoms. 
A million or so of tulips and pansies, and fifty 
thousand rose-bushes, will furnish variety enough 
for the most fastidious, and these will be re- 
placed by other delicacies in their season until 
a grand explosion of chrysanthemums foretells 
the autumn closing. 




The hall itself is, for the most part, a low 
conservatory-like building, but it gains dignity 
from higher structures at each end, and espe- 
cially from an enormous glass or " crystal " 
dome, high enough to roof the tallest palms 
and bamboos. In this department will be 
shown everything relating to growing plants 
and their culture ; and upon the island in front 
the Japanese will construct one of their beauti- 
ful temples and artificial gardens, designed not 
only as an exhibit, but as a permanent gift to 
the city of Chicago. 

Here, too, will there be rooms set apart for 

Whatever is distinctly feminine — reform work, 
charity organization, a model kitchen, a kinder- 
garten and hospital — -here finds fitting place. 
Reading-rooms, a library of the works of women 
writers, and specimens of woman's handiwork 
will be found here, while shady galleries offer to 
women visitors grateful protection from the 
sunshine of an inland summer. Mrs. Shaw, 
the celebrated whistler, is not promised as an 
attraction ; though many little girls who are 
tired of hearing a certain poor rhyme about 
" crowing hens " might favor her appearing. 
The Fisheries Building is of a peculiar shape. 


cafes and restaurants; and the visitor, wearied 
by attempting impossible feats of sight-seeing, 
may welcome the opportunity to rest and be 
refreshed in this domain of orchids, trees, and 
flowers. The island, with its border of aquatic 
plants and its shady woodland, will bring to the 
tired eyes the restful beauties of natural scenery. 
The quick gliding of gondolas and electric 
launches will be a relief after the bustling 
crowds. It is hard to overpraise the wisdom 
that remembered Nature is still dominant upon 
our great continent, and preserved within the 
endless variety of the Fair a space where trees 
and sky and lake remind of the outside world. 
The Women's Pavilion, designed by a woman 
architect, is decorated by a woman sculptor. 

Oblong in the middle, at each end it throws out 
a gallery leading to a polygonal structure. In 
one of these are the aquaria, and visitors may 
here gaze from a darker room into well-lighted 
tanks, wherein are all the forms of salt-water 
animals exhibited as if to a deep-sea diver. 
The other wing shows whatever will illustrate 
the art of the angler or work of the fisher folk. 
In the larger building are the more capacious 
tanks, and a central basin and rockwork foun- 
tain will contain fresh-water fish. Should the 
sea-serpent visit the Fair, room will be found 
for him in this middle section. 

In decorating these exhibition halls the archi- 
tects have artistically adopted the forms of ma- 
rine life, and one's attention will no doubt be 

i8 93 .: 




divided between the curious moldings and the 
living models that are eating one another in the 
tanks, quite as if they were at home. 

Small boys who mean to run away to sea 
would do well to pass some time here in pre- 
liminary studies. Possibly a view of the sharks 
may induce them to delay their departure. 

Those who prefer to be backwoodsmen will 
do better to go at once (by the circular railway 
that will run around the grounds) to the great 
Forestry Building. Here they may see all the 
kinds of trees there are, in pillars made of 
natural tree-trunks that surround the entire 
outside verandah. Four enormous sawmills 
will sing their soothing melodies under a roof 
thatched with natural barks and fibers. 

A less interesting exterior — the United 
States Government Building — will shelter 
much that boys will find as interesting as any- 
thing in the whole garden of enchantment. 
Here are coins, a life-saving station, the origi- 

nal draft of the Declaration of Independence 
that caused the whole trouble, the Constitution, 
the Liberty Bell, and — well, everything. The 
Coast Survey will offer to the geography en- 
thusiasts a little map of the United States, built 
in plaster, and four hundred feet square, — about 
as large as a city block, — all molded to scale, 
and showing even the hill back of the old red 
schoolhouse, and the place where you caught 
the big sunfish. The War Department, or some 
other, will fire off cannon of all sizes, and a 
hospital near by will show what it means to be 
wounded on the field of glory. 

Out in the lake in front of the building 
the Navy Department has built something 
that would be a perfect modern battle-ship 
except that it must remain at home to receive 
callers. Real, live boys who once cross to 
this man-of-war will have to be removed at 
nightfall by the marines. By the way, if 
there is anything omitted in the outfit of the 




craft, you may tell these same gentlemen all 
about it. 

We cannot even barely mention a ten-thou- 
sandth of the features each of which some boy 
or girl will pick out as " the best thing of all." 
We must at least say a few words of the Palace 
of Fine Arts, give a hasty list of some of the 
Yankee notions, and then leave you to buy large 
savings-banks, pick huckleberries, run errands, 
chop kindlings, and so on, in order to fill it with 
gold and silver pennies by May i. 

The Art Galleries fill a superb building that 
is unmistakably classic in architecture. Sur- 
mounted by a grand dome supporting a winged 
statue, the front sends out a beautiful pillared 
portico, which is repeated by smaller doorways 
of similar design. Around the whole run great 
galleries, forty feet wide, presenting surfaces for 
molding, sculpture, and mural paintings. Lead- 
ing up from the Lagoon are steps and terraces, 
upon which a number of square pedestals sup- 
port groups of sculpture. 

Standing apart from the other large build- 
ings, the Palace of Fine Arts need not harmo- 
nize with them. It is of impressive simplicity 
in its lines, and attains grandeur by a few com- 
manding features. Two wings of not dissimilar 
effect emphasize the beauty of the main portion. 

In the opinion of many, this building should 
be made a permanent memorial of the Fair. It 
is the least dependent upon others of all that 
have been grouped within the park. Within 
are galleries admirably adapted for the safe 
preservation and convenient exhibition of me- 
morials of the great Fair. Architects agree 
that but little labor and expense would be 
necessary to convert the whole into a fire-proof, 
durable, and beautiful monument to the great 
Columbian Exposition. 

A Century editorial says of this exhibition: 
" Those who have time to see only its general 
aspect will have seen the verv best of it." A 
government report is quoted as saying : " This 
exposition stands alone. There is nothing like 
it in all history." And to the boys and girls of 
America we can say that to see the Fair intel- 
ligently, and with time properly apportioned, 
will be an education more liberal than can be 
acquired in any college in the land. 

Now, as a light dessert, let us run over just 
a few of the " side shows," outside of the classi- 
fied exhibits. 

Here will be found ancient and modern vil- 
lages imitated; a captive balloon; settlements 
of foreign nations ; a wheel 250 feet in diameter 
for whirling people up into the air on revolving 
chairs ; a great tower ascended by an electric 
spiral railway ; a panorama of the Alps ; an im- 
mense swimming-building, with tank ; a great 
company of trained animals; an artificial-ice 
toboggan slide; Japanese bazars; Bohemian 
glass-blowers; an African savage settlement; 
a great glass-factory in operation ; a Moorish 
palace ; a volcano panorama ; a 1 oo-miles-an- 
hour railway, where the cars are driven by jets 
of water and slide on films of water ; gondolas 
and electric launches plying upon all the water- 
ways ; an Eskimo village ; a steam-engine, in 
the power-house, twice as large as the celebrated 
Corliss engine, but using oil for fuel ; all the 
State buildings ; a hunter's camp ; a complete 
Indian village ; a dairy ; the largest cannon 
that the Krupp Works have ever built ; a mov- 
ing sidewalk, part moving slowly enough to step 
upon, and part carrying the passengers quickly 
along. Most of these amusing sights are in a 
strip of eighty acres called the " Midway Plais- 
ance." And the Children's Building ? Certainly, 
you shall hear about that — but at another time. 

One great difficulty will be the impossibil- 
ity of seeing more than one drop out of the 
ocean offered. Remember, if you go, that you 
will have to select the few things that you 
wish most to see. Then go resolutely and see 
them. Never mind the gilt gingerbread : find 
out the very jewels that you wish to make your 
own. If you love art, see the pictures and 
statuary. If you love machinery, go see the 
wheels go round. 

It will be a good lesson to draw from the 
Fair that all its magnificence is the result of an 
idea — the idea that the world was round ; and 
that the man in whose honor the people are 
there gathered was for years believed to be a 
visionary and a crank. 

Which brings us back to the homely wis- 
dom of Davy Crockett : " Be sure you 're right; 
then go ahead." 



Vol. XX.— 34. 


By William O. Stoddard. 

[Begun in the November number.} 

Chapter XI. 


The six land-pirates had not failed to bring 
hooks and lines with them into the woods. 
Rods were easily cut among the bushes, and 
grubs served for bait. There is sometimes good 
fun in fishing, but these fishermen found no fun 
in their fishing. The}' had changed their 
camp from the old place by the stump, and 
no blackfellows had tried to hinder them. 
Now, however, the fish did not bite well ; for it 
was the wrong time of day, and prospect of food 
was poor. Besides, every fisherman felt like 
now and then turning his head, as if to see 
whether anybody were coming. It was not 
long before one of them laid down his rod and 
line, and arose, picking up his rifle. 

" Boys," he said, " I don't lay claim to being 
a fisherman. There 'd better be one man on 
guard. I '11 patrol." 

" Boys," added another, " he 's right. These 
are only small fish. You four go on a-fishin'. 
There ought to be two men on guard. It 's a 
dangerous neighborhood." 

He would have thought so, indeed, if he 
could have seen a small, black, very bushy 
head which was just then pushing through some 
underbrush to look at him and his comrades. 
Once more the black boy had discovered some- 
thing new. 

His elders had been after Ka-kak-kia and his 
party, while he had been discovering the baro- 
net, the ladies, and a whole excursion party, 
and now he had found a fishing-party. He 
even wasted much time in staring at it, so that 
his lame father ere long had almost caught up 
with him. He saw a few small fish caught. 
He saw the two patrols walk up and down, each 
carrying a rifle over his shoulder in a half-mili- 
tary way. He was watching one of them when 

a sort of shadow flitted by him. It went past, 
and it went up, in a whizzing whirl, and then 
it came pouncing down. He heard a peculiar 
low cry behind him, and he instantly began to 
creep away. 

As for the patrol, a boomerang had struck 
him, and he fell to the earth, while his rifle 
went off with a loud report. 

The other patrol turned and fired wildly into 
the bushes, shouting : 

" Blackfellows ! " 

" Bill 's killed ! " exclaimed Jim. 

" No, I 'm not," growled the fallen man, as 
he sat up and rubbed his shoulder ; " but the 
lock of my rifle 's broken. That thing hits 

The boomerang itself lay upon the ground, 
broken in two. But that the rifle served as a 
shield, the man Bill would have been severely 
injured; and the whole party had received a 
dreadful warning. 

" Boys," said Jim, " there 's bad luck for us 
in these 'ere woods. Who 'd have looked for 
blackfellows round here ? We must get the 
nuggets, and then we must clear out of this, or 
we '11 all be speared." 

No more boomerangs were thrown. The 
men were well acquainted with the wild men 
of those woods. They knew that a single 
boomerang, hurled in silence, with nothing fol- 
lowing it, stood for the presence of one lurking 
blackfellow, who might have gone off after 
others, or who might not be heard of again. 
They had been through somewhat similar ex- 
periences before, and they had risked such 
things when they set out in chase of the man 
Beard. It was plain that they had lived lives 
of recklessness. 

As for the black boy and his lame father, 
they were now creeping through the woods to- 
gether, as if it took two to carry so much news 
and tidings so important. 




Helen Gordon stood upon the bank of the 
river, and wondered whether to go up or down. 

" Seems to me I must be below Uncle Fred's 
camp," she said to herself; " and it 's dreadfully 
rocky the other way. I 'd have to go out into 
the woods and go around, and I might miss 
finding the river again. How tired and hungry 
I am ! Nap is tired, too. What shall I do ? " 

The words were hardly out of her lips before 
there came a kind of answer. She had never 
before heard such music ! 

Yip ! Yip ! Yip ! came the clear, glad, joyous 
melody of one voice. 

Yelp ! Yelp ! Yelp ! was the reply of two 
other deeper voices. All three of them in 
chorus had but one interpretation : 

" There she is ! There 's Helen ! " 

In another moment the dogs were fawning 
about her, and she was trying to pet them all 
at once, calling them all the good names she 
could think of. 

Then they went to the water's edge, lapped 
freely, and came back to lie down and pant ; 
for they had been running long and hard, and 
were tired. 

" I 'm so glad ! " exclaimed Helen. " Now 
I know I can find my way back to the camp. 
I 'm afraid Aunt Maude and Uncle Fred will 
be worried about me." She never suspected 
that they, too, were lost. 

It was just as well that the bushy cover where 
Aunt Maude was at that moment crouching 
had but one horse and one woman to hide. 
Two horses might have neighed to each other, 
or two women might have uttered exclamations. 
As it was, Lady Parry watched in silence a 
very lame blackfellow and a very active, urgent 
black boy who was hurrying him forward. 
The man carried a shield, boomerangs, and 
sticks, but the boy had only one poor, crooked 
stick, of no account. 

She trembled, but even her horse nipped the 
grass in silence, and the black news-carriers 
were too much absorbed in their errand to 
notice her. 

'• They 're gone ! " she murmured at last 
" But what am I to do ? And where is my 

She rose and stood erect in a slight opening 
between two luxuriant bushes. She had deemed 

herself safe, for the lame blackfellow and his 
son had been gone for several minutes. Her 
intense feeling had obtained the mastery and 
she had spoken aloud, and as she rose she 
saw before her, not fifty yards away, one of 
the most awful figures that could be ima- 
gined. Tall, black, ferocious, terrific without 
any addition to his natural features, but now 
hideous with all the white skeleton-marks of 
his corroboree paint, a black warrior stood in 
an open space, balancing a long spear with his 
throw-stick, preparing for a deadly cast. 

How that slender, serpent-like spear quivered 
as the savage poised it and shouted his exultant 
war-cry ! How the harsh, discordant sound 
did grate and thrill upon her ears. But it was 
instantly followed by the most welcome sound 
in all the world. 

" Mother ! " was the call she heard from the 
thicket near by, and then came the double re- 
port of a gun, one barrel following the other 

The spear dropped, and a long, dark form 
lay prone upon the grass; but neither Lady 
Maude nor Hugh saw it fall, or, for one long 
moment, thought of it. 

" Mother ! " 

" Hugh ! " 

" Hide, Mother ! Hide ! Quick ! There are 
more of them ! " 

" I know there are, Hugh ! I 've seen some 
of them. Get down! " 

Down they crept behind the bushes, and 
rapid whispers, back and forth, told all the 
story that each had to tell. 

Lady Maude had found Hugh, and it seemed 
to her that her troubles were nearly over. 
Hugh had found his mother, and it did not at 
once occur to him to doubt his ability to con- 
duct her directly to his father's camp. The 
meeting was so unexpected that for some min- 
utes neither thought of the black corroboree 

" He 's gone, Hugh," said his mother; "but 
I 'm afraid there are others." 

" I don't know, Mother," said Hugh. " I 
had to shoot quickly, or that savage would have 
killed you. I must put in fresh cartridges." 

Lady Maude had little idea of the situation 
except that she felt safer. As for the cave and 




the other strange things Hugh had described, 
he might almost as well have repeated a page 
out of " Robinson Crusoe." It all sounded 
like so much fiction. 

The report of a gun can be heard only a short 
distance through dense foliage. If those woods 
had been bare and desolate, as in wintry July 
weather, the report of Hugh's gun might have 
been heard by other ears ; but as it was, it gave 
no warning. 

The six land-pirates had fried and eaten some 
small fish. They believed themselves in dan- 

" They '11 have a good time doing it now," 
he said, as he crept away. " Take it all in all, 
this is getting to be about the most tangled-up 
situation I ever saw. I wish the black and 
white savages would eat each other up, like the 
Kilkenny cats. My life is n't worth much, but I 
must see that those boys don't get hurt. No 
matter what becomes of me, I must save the 
others ! " 

He was on his feet now, and was walking 
rapidly homeward. 

" Who 's that ? " 

He stood still as he uttered this exclamation, 


ger only from blackfellows, but they were not 
entirely correct. When the wounded blackfel- 
low's boomerang fell upon Bill's rifle-lock and 
knocked him down, there was a low excla- 
mation from a man concealed in a tuft of 
weeds on the crest of a ledge below the camp. 

" Ugh ! " he said. " That was well thrown. 
I hope it spoiled his rifle. They '11 have trouble 
enough now. I can go back to the cave and 
look after those boys." 

He must have been listening and getting 
information, for he seemed to know that his 
enemies had lost their provisions, but were still 
determined to follow and plunder him. 

but he did not raise his rifle. He was looking 
forward, and he seemed under sudden and 
great excitement. 

Right before him, at a little distance, under 
a tree stood a very fine horse, cropping the 
grass. Against the shoulder and saddle of that 
horse leaned a large, well-dressed man with his 
head bowed upon his folded arms. 

" Look out ! " shouted Beard, and he sprang 

There had been another man very near. He 
had a club in one hand, and he was stepping 
lightly, stealthily forward. He was bony, mus- 
cular, and as black as ink. His face gleamed 



with savage triumph until he heard the fierce, 
angry shout with which Beard bounded upon 

'■ Ka-kak-kia! " yelled the savage in defi- 
ance, and Beard himself just then shouted the 
same name. But it was too much for savage 
temper to be interrupted in that way, and Ka- 
kak-kia struck at Beard with the waddy he 
had been about to throw at the man by the 

The blow was parried skilfully, but it was not 
returned ; and Beard let fall the rifle he had 
parried with, and gripped Ka-kak-kia by the 
arms. The man by the horse had raised his 
head, as if he were waking from a dream. 
Now he had turned and was staring at them as 
if stunned. 

Ka-kak-kia hardly ceased for an instant to 
pour forth angry words, and he was answered 
as angrily by the cave-man. Meanwhile there 
was a wrestling-match of a very desperate sort, 
and an ordinary white man might have had the 
worst of it. 

" What am I about ? " suddenly exclaimed 
the man by the horse. " Don't give in ! I '11 
knock down that blackfellow ! " 

" No, Sir Frederick," gasped Beard. " Don't 
strike him. He 's a friend — of mine. I must 
throw him — without help — or he 'd lose his 
respect for me ! " 

" Humph ! " exclaimed Sir Frederick. " But 
what if he throws you ? " 

" He can't," said Beard. " But — if he does — 
you must disable him at once ! There, — he 's 
yielding, — there ! " 

It was a terrible grapple, but Ka-kak-kia 
had met his master. 

Strain, tug, struggle as he would, the steady, 
resistless strength of Beard bent him over, 
threw him upon the grass, and then held him 
quiet and harmless, while he glared furiously at 
the victor. 

" I must hold him until he gives up, Sir 
Frederick. Hand me that waddy." 

The baronet obeyed as if he had been com- 
manded by a superior officer ; but he could 
only guess at the meaning of the native words 
which followed between Beard and the savage. 

" He has promised to be quiet," said Beard 
at last, releasing him. 


Ka-kak-kia arose somewhat sullenly. 
" I told him," continued Beard, " that the 
woods were full of his tribe's enemies, that he 
and his people might all be speared, and that 
they were foolish to try to fight white fellows 
at the same time." 

" Will he keep his promise? " asked Sir Fred- 
erick. " Is there any good in him? " 

" Not a particle," said Beard. " He has a 
queer idea that he can't kill me, that 's all. 
You know very well that they never keep a 
promise. Just now he is cowed, and he will 
be quiet for fear of your rifle and mine." 

"Will you let him go?" asked Sir Frederick, 
doubtfully. " Is it safe ? " 

" Of course it is n't safe," replied Beard; "but, 
then, what is a fellow to do ? They are men, 
after all, and I don't like the idea of needlessly 
killing them." 

The baronet expressed his agreement with 
this sentiment, and then asked, " But who are 
you ? " 

" You may call me Beard. How did you 
happen to be away off here, alone ? " said the 
cave-man, adding, as he turned to the savage : 
" Ka-kak-kia, go ! " He added some words in 
the native tongue, and the wild man took his 
waddy and sprang away. 

The answer made by Sir Frederick was given 
steadily, but in a voice full of suppressed pain. 
He told about his camp, and his missing party, 
and the lost boys, the cause of his losing him- 
self that day. Beard listened, now and then 
nodding his head, and at last remarked: 

"You are not lost, Sir Frederick. I could 
guide you to your camp by a bee-line if it were 
safe. But we must get there as cautiously as 
we can manage it. Ned and Hugh are all 
right. They are at my house." 

" Good ! " said the excited baronet. " My 
son and his friend at your house? Now, if I 
knew where to find my wife and niece! " 

"We shall find them," said Beard. "The 
worst of it is that there are two parties of black- 
fellows prowling around, and one lot of out- 
and-out bushrangers. We must move at once, 
or we may be speared where we stand." 

" I '11 lead my horse. He is about used up," 
said Sir Frederick. " I owe you my life, Beard — 
and the boys' lives — " 




" Never mind that," interrupted Beard, some- 
what grimly. " We will hide your saddle and 
bridle in a safe place, and we will leave your 
horse where we can find him. I think it won't 
be safe, just now, to go into my house by the 
front door. We can get in by the side door, 
though, I 'm pretty sure, and I can give you 
something to eat and drink." 

"Is Hugh there?" asked the baronet. 

" I left him there with Ned," replied Beard. 
" If they have gone out, they will soon get 
back again. We were intending to go to your 
camp to-night, if the way should be clear." 

" But my wife and my niece. Do you know 
anything of them ? " 

" They may be at the camp, for all you 
know," said Beard ; " or we may meet them on 
the way. You were lost not far from one an- 
other. Come, we must hurry ! " 

Chapter XII. 


When Ned Wentworth parted from Hugh 
Parry under the great tree at the front door of 
Beard's house, he set out with a purpose of his 

"If I understood that man," he remarked 
aloud, " after the river leaves the waterfall it 
goes around the mountain, or through a cleft 
in it. If that 's so, I can find it again. If I do 
find it, Hugh and I could make our own way 
home along the bank, whether Beard comes 
with us or not. He does n't wish to come, or 
to meet anybody. I can see that." 

On he went, therefore, choosing ground 
that was not too rough and broken to travel 
over, but keeping as near as he could to the 

" I '11 find the river," he said again, " unless 
the blackfellows find me." 

He forgot that time was passing, and that 
the day could not last much longer. The sun 
was sinking steadily, and he was getting tired. 
The forest was giving place to a short, stubby 
growth upon sandy soil. 

" I can find my way back around the moun- 
tain," he said at last; "but I wish I could get 
to the river for a good drink of water. How 
long that shadow is!" 

He noticed the length of it because it was the 
shadow of a great rock that stood some distance 

" As late as that ? " he exclaimed. " Then I 
can't get back to the cave to-night. I must 
push along and find the river. It can't hurt 
me to spend a night in the woods. I can light 
a fire to keep off dingos. It will worry Hugh 
if I don't come, though." 

Hugh was not thinking of Ned just then, but 
he and his mother were also thinking of the 
nearness of sunset, for it was getting shadowy 
in the dense forest. 

" Mother," said Hugh, " I wish I could get 
some water for you. We must go toward 
Beard's cave. I can find the way. We 're as 
safe in one spot as in another." 

" I Yl like to get away from this, Hugh," she 
said ; " though I feel much safer, now you are 
with me." 

They went forward slowly and cautiously, 
Hugh leading the horse. The woods grew more 
and more dim and shadowy. 

The six men by the waterfall had gone out,, 
three at a time, and had looked in several 
directions for traces of the nugget-owner whom 
they had come there to find ; but they had 
gathered again, to tell one another they were 
sure of being nearer to him, and that they 
believed they would have better luck on the 

If Ka-kak-kia's band of blackfellows were 
not tired, they must have been made of iron, 
for they had scouted all day long. They had 
managed with such cleverness that they had 
not seen, or been seen by, any of their black 
enemies. The same thing was true of these, 
for the lame man and his brilliant son made 
their report concerning white fellows only, and 
no others were more than suspected of being 
close at hand. 

Ka-kak-kia's followers had a surprise all their 
own, when they gathered to hear their chief's 
report of his meeting with his mysterious 
" friend," whom they all knew, and who had 
thrown him down and kept him from killing a 
perfect prize of a big white fellow standing 
beside a horse. They all agreed with Ka-kak- 
kia that both of those white fellows were to be 




again attacked as soon as there was a chance. 
They also all agreed that it was not a good night 
for going to sleep. The time could much better 
be expended in watching for any camp-fire that 
might be kindled by reckless white fellows. 

Their black enemies were of the same 
opinion, and it was strengthened a little before 
sunset. One of their number was missing, and 
they had sent up all manner of sounds to tell 
him where they were. The black boy, also, 
had been sent back along his own trail, to hoot 
like an owl and call the wanderer. He went 
and he hooted. He even made blunders, utter- 
ing animal cries that never sounded in the 
" bush " at night, and that roused the suspi- 
cions of Ka-kak-kia's party. His hooting was 
all in vain, and he hunted on until he almost 
stumbled over something which made him drop 
flat and listen. He lay still for a minute, but 
nobody seemed to be near him. He lifted 
his head and put out his hand. There was 
no doubt but that the warrior he had stum- 
bled over had been killed by the bullets of 
some white fellow. The black boy knew his 
duty. He took every stick belonging to the 
slain man. Luckily, he had been an uncom- 
monly well-supplied person. His shield was 
very good ; his vvaddy-club and stone toma- 
hawk were works of art ; his three boome- 
rangs had been made in the best manner. 
So had both of the two long spears, and the 
throw-stick, and a climber. He had been a 
rich man ; and when the black boy set out to 
carry back his latest piece of news, he was 
armed like a chief. It made him walk proudly, 
and he kept his eyes busy, in a half hope of 
seeing something or somebody to throw at, — he 
had so very much all ready to throw. He knew 
about the fight the day before with Ka-kak-kia 
and his followers, and he was not at all sure 
that he might not fall in with some of them on 
his way to rejoin his own people. He felt that 
he was having a set of remarkable adventures, 
and that he was in an unsafe piece of country. 

Others also felt unsafe, and the men at Sir 
Frederick Parry's camp decided to sleep only 
two at a time. They mourned the absence of 
watchful Yip more than they did that of the 
other dogs, and they mentioned him more fre- 
quently than even the baronet. 

As for Sir Frederick and his new acquain- 
tance, they were getting better and better 
acquainted as they went along. It was easier 
for Beard to avoid telling much about himself 
because Sir Frederick had so many other things 
upon his mind. 

They scouted carefully through the woods, 
with their rifles held ready for sudden use, but 
they did not meet anybody, black or white, 
before they came to the edge of a broken, 
rocky slope, where Beard remarked : 

" We must leave your horse here. We can 
find him when we come out." 

" We will picket him," said the baronet. 

That was done with a long piece of bark 
rope, and then Beard said : 

" Now for some dinner ! " 

" Dinner," replied Sir Frederick. " I 'd give 
more for some water, just now, than for any- 
thing else. How far are we from the river?" 

" It runs around this mountain on the other 
side," said Beard. " I can bring that horse 
enough water to keep him alive ; but first I 
must care for you." 

They were walking rapidly up the slope, and 
now right before them was a mass of broken 
crags that looked like a good hiding-place. 

" Hullo ! " exclaimed the baronet, " is this 
your house ? " 

"It used to be," said Beard; "but it is n't 
safe enough now. The blackfellows found it 
out, and I 'm afraid they told other people 
where it was. I had to give it up." 

It looked as if the entrance of a gap among 
the crags had been rudely roofed over with 
branches and bark, making a shelter from the 
weather; but there were no signs of any door. 

Beard led the way in, and right through, for 
the gap continued beyond the roofed place. 
Sir Frederick followed him silently, even after 
the gap grew dim and began to look anything 
but safe. 

" Sir Frederick," said Beard, " have you any 
matches ? I must light a torch." 

A box of wax-lights was held out to him, and 
a long pine-knot which Beard had picked up 
was set on fire before he again led the way. 

They were in a crooked crack between two 
vast masses of limestone that met overhead. 
There was, however, no difficulty at all in fol- 




lowing it, until they came to a point where 
Beard paused and exclaimed : 

" Now, I 'm glad you are a man of firm 
nerves and good muscles ! " 

" What 's that sound ? " asked the baronet. 

" Nothing but water," said Beard. " I '11 
give you some of it quickly. Hold the torch 
while I go down." 

Sir Frederick took the flaring torch, and held 
it far out, to see what Beard was doing. 

" Here is a rope-ladder," said Beard ; " it 's 
strong enough, but it 's a little clumsy, and you 
must hold tight. I 'm all right. There, — 
hand me the torch." 

Down he went like a man who knew the 
way, and Sir Frederick's good nerves did not 
prevent him from shuddering when he saw 
how long that swinging ladder was. The torch 
stopped going down, and Beard shouted : 

" Get a good hold to start with ! Come on ! 
It won't break." 

Sir Frederick Parry was a brave man, and 
he was very thirsty. Thus far he had suffered 
no harm, although his clothes were somewhat 
dustv, and he had every reason for trusting 
the man who had saved his life. Still he felt 
uneasy when he gripped that ladder of bark 
rope and began to scramble down into the 
unknown gloom and darkness all around that 
side door of Beard's house. 

" There ! " he exclaimed as soon as his feet 
reached solid rock. " It 's a very remarkable 
place. Is it much further ? " 

•• Why, no," said Beard, lifting the torch. 
" Here we are only a hundred feet or so from 
the passage that leads to my ' front door.' I 
did n't have a chance to let the boys know 
about this entrance, but I told them it was 
here. We might have come in the other way, 
ourselves; but it seemed to me that this was 
safer, after we met Ka-kak-kia." 

Sir Frederick followed Beard out through a 
broken group of stalactites and stalagmites, and 
then Beard said : 

" There 's the fireplace, and the fire is still 
smoldering. The boys have gone out to scout 
around. I half expected that they would, but 
I cautioned them not to go too far. See, Sir 
Frederick, here 's the place where they must 
have cooked their dinner." 

" Why, they may not get back to-night. They 
may lose their way again," exclaimed the 

" I don't think so," replied Beard, as he 
heaped more wood on the fire. " I gave them 
careful instructions. I '11 go for water. What 
do you think of my house ? " 

''It is indeed a wonderful place," replied 
Sir Frederick, warmly. 

Beard went away with his torch in one hand 
and his tin kettle in the other, and the baronet 
continued : " I have heard there were a great 
many caves in this geological formation. It is 
really not at all remarkable. The wonder of it 
is that I am here, and that Hugh and Ned 
have been here. Oh, how thirsty I am ! " 

That difficulty was removed as soon as the 
tin kettle came back from its dip into the 
chasm, and then Beard said : 

" There 's all the meat you need to broil. 
Go ahead. Cook and eat as comfortably as 
you please, but I must not waste any time 
here. I must know what 's going on in the 
woods. Besides, I think I can get you some 
coffee for breakfast." 

" All right," said the baronet. " I can broil 
my own dinner. I hope the boys will return 
while you 're gone." 

" Likely as not they may," said Beard. " I 
shall not be gone long"; and before anything 
else could be said, he had vanished. 

"I 'declare," remarked Sir Frederick to him- 
self, " he has gone, and he forgot to tell me how 
I 'm to get out of this place. I 'm corked up 
like a fly in a bottle. What if he should not 
come back ? I 'm in a very remarkable situa- 
tion. Still, I must eat something, and I '11 
wait for Hugh or for my red-bearded friend, 
whoever he may be. He 's a great puzzle to 
me. That was a grand wrestling-match between 
him and the blackfellow! He must be made 
of steel and whip-cord ! " 

So the baronet sat by the fire, broiled kan- 
garoo meat, and made an excellent meal. 

Poor Helen Gordon, tired and hungry, there 
by the river-bank, could not make up her mind 
to lie down as the darkness came on. 

" I dare not sleep," she said; "but I can sit 
down and lean my back against a tree." 

1 893.. 


She did so, and the deerhounds came and 
stretched themselves upon the ground beside 
her, and Yip put his head into her lap and 
whined, and then whirled and sat alertly in 
front, looking keenly out into the darkness, as if 
to say : " I shall sit up and keep watch." 

She was, at all events, better guarded than 


were Hugh and his mother, now picking their 
slow way, with greater and greater difficulty, 
along through the deepening darkness. That is, 
it was very dark except in open glades where 
the moonlight poured in ; and yet they were 
almost afraid of such helps, because in those 
places other eyes might see them. 

( To be continued.) 


By Abbie Farwell Brown. 

Leu-can-the-mum Vul-ga-re" — oh, you 
have a long name, too, 

You poor, dear little daisy ; I can sympathize 
with you. 

Does not your head feel heavy with that 
dreadful name to hold, 

And don't you feel, Leucanthemum Vulgare, 
very old ? 

I do, dear, when I 'member, though they 
think my name is " sweet," 

And love to say it over, — " Gladys Con- 
stance Marguerite." 

And then, when you 've been naughty, does 
your daisy-mama say 
; Leucanthemum Vulgare ! " in such a stern, 
sad way ? 
My mama does; — oh, daisy dear, how many 
times she 's said, 
■ Now, Gladys Constance Marguerite, go right 

up-stairs to bed ! " 
And then I know I 'm very bad, for that 's 

my punish name ; 
Oh, daisy dear, do you suppose all mamas 
do the same ? 

But I love best to call you, dear, just " Daisy"; for you see 
That 's my pet name, the very same that every one calls me ; 
And we are twins now, — are we not? — for both of us have woes, 
About our long, long " punish names," that no one ever knows. 
They may be " grand," and " dignified," and " sweet," and all the rest, 
But we both love, dear, — don't we? — our short Daisy names the best. 


By G. R. O'Reilly. 


I have always found people interested in 
snake-charming and snake fascination. It is 
very amusing and very ridiculous to one who 
has been " behind the scenes," to listen to the 
explanations given of the charmer's art. Now- 
adays we do not hear witchcraft given as the 
explanation, for the day of magic is passed ; but 
even to-day people are led into absurdities quite 
as nonsensical as those credited in the ages 
of witches and fairies. 

While some people think that snake-charm- 
ing is performed by drugging the animals, the 
general opinion is that the charmer's power is 
due to the influence of " animal magnetism," to 
the power of the human eye, to will-power, to 
hypnotism or to something equally mysterious 
and beyond the reach of common men. 

However silly these theories may be when 
applied to human beings, they are more ab- 
surd when applied to animals, and especially 
to snakes. It is true that sometimes the eye 
of a determined man will awe an enraged ani- 
mal that has some knowledge of man's power. 
But so will the eye of a tiger affect a man. 
Any other eye that has power of evil behind it 
will have the same effect. The eye is but the 

reminder that tells us the owner of it lives. If 
the life or energy behind it be terrible in its 
power, the eye, its index, is to be feared. But 
if the life indicated is weak or gentle, then the 
power of the eye avails nothing toward control. 
Now, the snakes used by the charmer are not 
drugged, as some think, nor are they in the 
least affected by " magnetism," or hypnotic 
power. They feel not at all the influence of 
the eye. Generally they do not even see it. 
The owner of it they see as a whole when he 
moves; but if he remains quiet they will proba- 
bly never notice him. For the eye of a snake 
is very quick to detect motion, but very dull as 
to form and color. It will not distinguish be- 
tween a man sitting motionless and a tree-stump, 
or know the difference between a frog and a 
stone until the animal jumps. All the mistakes 
that people make in regard to these animals 
arise from a false idea of their ways. And all 
the power of the snake-charmer, be it great or 
little, comes from his intimate acquaintance with 
their likes and dislikes, together with a know- 
ledge of other people's ideas about snakes. 
The sharper deceives the simple country-folk 
because he understands their ways of thought ; 




so does the snake-charmer delude the people 
who come to see him. He knows that they 
believe in hypnotism and the power of his eye, 
consequently he makes mysterious passes with 
his hands, and gazes with all his might on the 
reptiles he uses. Then the people go away 
and say it was all in the " power of his eye." 
They inquire, " Did you see how he kept his 
eye on them ? " If he did, it was only his play- 
ing to popular prejudice ; for he knows what the 
spectators think and he humors them, but his 
earnest gaze has no effect whatever on the 

The account of snake-charming which I here 
give is not founded on any supposition, but on 
actual knowledge of hard facts. It is not an 
atte?npt to account for things which I have seen 
without understanding ; it is a simple telling of 
what I myself can do, and have done many a 
time, explaining all afterward according to 
simple laws of nature and human reason com- 
bined. In short, I shall try to give a plain 
scientific explanation of snake-charming. 

For years I have lived among snakes. I 
have hunted them and caught them in twenty 
different countries, and I have made their ways 
and habits the study of my life. Through a 
field-glass, from safe retreats behind rocks or 
bushes, I have watched all their doings in the 
wild and secret places where they live. Not 
satisfied with that, I have brought them home 
to live with me in my study. Very interesting 
it is, too, to observe their ways of life ; their 
behavior when hungry and thirsty ; to see them 
asleep and awake ; quiet or on the move ; in 
rest or in anger; walking, running, swimming, 
or climbing. 

Few men knew more of India than the late 
Sir Bartle Frere, and he once assured me that 
I did all that the Indian charmers do, and 
many things they do not attempt. 

In this country, we never see snake-charming 
in its perfection; nor, indeed, outside of India 
and North Africa, are perfect snake-charmers 
to be found. Here, they simply handle the 
snakes; and the only wonder about the per- 
formance is why snakes that will bite any one 
else do not bite the snake-charmer. The an- 
swer is, because he knows how to handle them. 
He does n't hurt them and he does n't frighten 

them, and, as a rule, a snake bites only when he 
is either hurt or frightened. The snake-charmer 
knows the treatment that will neither hurt nor 
frighten, and accordingly he acts with safety. 

This is the first secret of snake-charming, and 
usually the last also, as we see it practised in 
the cheap shows. This should not be called 
snake-charming — it is only smke-handling. 

Let us consider some performances of a 
higher class, as exhibited at the court of Mo- 
rocco, or before the princes of India. 

First : The charmer discovers by " magic " 
means the presence of a snake in a specified 
distant place where he himself has never been ; 
and then, with witnesses, and in their presence, 
he goes to the place and finds the snake. 

Second: He causes a snake, never before 
seen by him, to follow him, turning when he 
turns, and nestling at his feet when he stops. 

Third : The charmer by simply holding up 
his hand makes a moving snake stop instantly, 
and remain perfectly motionless. 

Fourth : By motions of the hand, with or 
without music, he makes a cobra stand up 
perpendicularly from the ground, and dance 
about, coiled on the tail. 

Fifth : By striking him with an ordinary lead- 
pencil he makes the same dancing cobra sud- 
denly sham death, turning over on his back 
and becoming as rigid as a stick. Then, by a 
simple movement, he instantly restores him to 
activity, and again sets him to dancing. 

Sixth : He calms an enraged boa-constrictor, 
hissing fiercely and biting at everything in his 
reach, and makes him quietly enter a sack. 

Seventh: The charmer covers himself with 
snakes which will not molest him, but will bite 
viciously at any one who approaches him. 

Eighth : He places an enraged snake on a 
table, and shows that while the snake will bite 
at any one who goes near him, even at the 
charmer himself, yet when the latter takes him 
up with his right hand the snake will not attack 
that hand, but will strike viciously at the other. 

Ninth : He suspends a branch in the center 
of a room, and places some snakes on it. The 
charmer stands close by, while another person 
approaches from the opposite side. The snakes 
run from the latter, leave the branch, and coil 
round the neck and outstretched arms of the 




charmer, which they do not molest, but they 
will bite at any one who tries to remove them. 

All of these feats I myself have accomplished. 
Now let us sift each performance. 

First: The finding of the snake — a feat for 
which the Hindu charmers get well paid, pre- 
tending thus to rid houses of snakes. 

One day as I stood talking with some friends, 
on a South African ostrich-farm, the owner, 
whom I knew, came up and asked if I had 
been " successful in the snake-hunt to-day." I 
answered that I had not. Then he smiled, and 
said : " My servants have an idea that you 
know by some magic means where the snakes 
are, and then go and find them there, because 
you always come home with one whenever you 
go out. I have seen the snake-charmers do it 
in India; but I don't suppose that you accom- 
plish such things." 

'•Why," said I, laughing, " I was just going 
up to your house to catch one there." 

" But we have never seen a snake about the 
house ; you must be mistaken this time," he 

" Never mind," said I ; " let us see if I am 
not right. Allow me to look at your wrists." 

I looked at his wrists, glanced at his eyes, 
and then looked at the wrists again. Then I 
asked what room he had last been in. 

" In the drawing-room." 

" Well, then, let us go up to the house. I '11 
catch a snake in the drawing-room." 

The hearers all thought this a joke; but we 
went to the room, and moved every article of 
furniture it contained, — chairs, lounges, piano, 
and all. No snake was to be seen. " I may be 
mistaken," I said ; " but I know it was here." 

As I spoke the words the proprietor himself 
lifted a cushion from the sofa, and a cobra 
three feet long darted at his hand. I jumped 
forward, and soon had the reptile by the neck. 

They begged me to tell them how I knew 
the snake was there, but I merely laughed and 
said nothing, preferring to hear their opinions. 
They asked to see its fangs. I opened its 
mouth ; the fangs were in place. 

The proprietor was quite sure that the snake 
could not have touched him without his know- 
ledge, so as to leave any mark on his wrists 
or clothes; and they all concluded that the 

presence of the snake in the room that morn- 
ing had in some magnetic way " influenced the 
gentleman's circulation," or had so " affected 
his nervous system " that I got evidence of its 
presence by noting the state of his pulse. 

" Why," said one, " did you never notice the 
queer nervous sensation that comes over you 
when you unexpectedly see a snake close to 
your feet in the grass ? Just as the compass 
points to the north, so do your nerves work 
round to the magnetism of that snake." 

Now this was really an utterly mistaken and 
ridiculous explanation. 

Next day, however, they began to waver in 
the magnetic theory. They said that, after all, 
I might have had the snake with me some- 
where when they met me. I answered this 
jestingly with a "may be so." 

During the following week, I expected the 
ostrich-farmer to call on me. On the very day 
I expected him he came. " Well," said I, as I 
looked at his wrists again, " how is it possi- 
ble that you have so many snakes in your 
drawing-room ? " " Come, come ! " said he, 
smiling, " no more of that. You had that 
snake in your pocket." " Well, search me, this 
time," said I, " and be sure there 's no trick in it. 
I have no snake in my pocket, or anywhere else 
about me ; but I believe there is really one in 
your drawing-room again." 

He took me at my word, and searched me 
all over before we set out to catch it. " You 
know," said I, " that I have n't been near your 
house since the day I caught the other fellow." 

"If you are right this time, I '11 believe you 
have the same power as the Hindus," he 

On the way, we called for the friends who 
had been with us on the previous occasion ; 
and they also searched me so as to assure them- 
selves that I had no snake with me. Quite 
satisfied, as indeed they might be, we went on ; 
and behold ! as we entered the drawing-room 
door, there was a big snake scurrying in under 
the piano. 

We drove him from his shelter, and in a few 
minutes he was captured. I had him by the 
neck. But this time it was not a cobra, but a 
harmless snake. 

They were satisfied of my power, and to this 

.s 93 . 



day they incline to the " magnetic " theory — 
unless they have since found out that I had a 
helper that time — one of the ostrich-farm ser- 
vants who, at my request, had carried in a harm- 
less snake, and let him loose in the drawing- 
room as soon as he saw us approaching the 
house ! On the first occasion, I did have the 
cobra in my pocket, and his fangs were not re- 
moved. I showed these to them so as to disarm 
their suspicions of my having had him about 
me. But then, he had n't a drop of venom in 
his glands, for I had pressed it out previously. 

But trickery of this kind cannot make a snake 
follow a man about, and actually go wherever 
he goes, turn when he turns, and, when he 
stops, nestle at his feet. Surely 
here is magnetism. Let us see : 

It happened that a few of us 
were standing in a field near my 
own house, when we saw a large 
black-and-white snake gliding 
along. It took refuge in a bunch 
of grass and weeds, about fifty 
yards away. 

" Don't kill him," 
said I ; " and I will 
show you some- 
thing you never 
saw before. 
I '11 make 


that snake follow me into the house without 
ever touching him. In fact, of his own ac- 
cord, he '11 go wherever I go." 

They waited while I ran in and hurriedly 
changed my dress, reappearing in a moment 
clad in a navy-blue dressing-gown, reaching 
down to within an inch of the ground. Now it 

is necessary to mention that it was a very calm 
day. The sun was shining overhead, and not a 
cloud was in the sky. The field was covered 
with very short grass, and I trusted to the fact 
that there was not a mole-hole or a rat-hole 
in the entire acre, nor any other place for the 
snake to hide in, except 

I that very bunch of weeds 
*> where he still lay close. 

I approached him, and 
took up my station about 
twenty yards from where he was hiding. 
I stood still as a statue, with my arms hang- 
ing motionless by my sides, and my face to- 
ward him. I then asked them to go to the 
bunch of grass by the farther side, and to chase 
him out so that he would make his exit on the 
side next to me. But before they came near, 
he had already glided off, and made directly 
toward me. I was gazing straight at him as he 
approached me, and, without turning my head 
or moving my arms, I began to move gently 
backward. Still he followed. I turned to the 




left; he still followed. He was not angry — he 
did not want to attack me, for he glided on very 
gently. If I moved to his right, he did so too; 
if I went to his left, he did the same. 

I allowed him to come within a yard of me, 
and then asked the others, but still with my 
eyes carefully on the snake, to direct me in 
my backward route, since I could not turn my 
head to direct myself, as I had to keep facing 
him. They sent me by a very winding route, 
but he followed every turn till I got to the 
door. When finally I sat down gently on the 
step, he glided in beneath my dressing-gown, 
and coiled himself on the toes of my shoes. 
They lifted the skirt of the dressing-gown to 
look at him, and he was frightened, and shot 
past me into the door, taking refuge among 
the furniture. I picked him up, and added him 
to my already large collection of live snakes. 
Poor fellow ! he died long ago, and his remains 
are in a bottle in the museum of Trinity 
College, Dublin. 

Now, they did n't drive him toward me, for 
they had remained afar off, nearly as far from 
him as they had been at first. 

"How did you do it?" they inquired; and 
I, in answer (as was my right), asked them to 
explain it. 

One believed I had some food about me to 
attract him. Another thought I had rubbed on 
my dressing-gown some drug of which he liked 
the odor. On being assured that these guesses 
were wrong, they remembered that I had kept 
my eye on him all the time and never once 
turned from him. They asked if that was a 
necessary part of it. I said, " Yes ; otherwise 
I could not keep control of him." 

Then they said, " It is magnetism, or hypno- 
tism. It is by the power of your eye that you 
did it." 

" No," I answered ; "it was not my eyes that 
drew him. The attraction was more general ; 
but yet it was neither food, nor drink, nor odor 
of any kind. He was attracted toward me 
very powerfully indeed, but the cause was 
neither chemical nor electrical." 

Six words contain the answer : six more the 
explanation. Perhaps the reader can guess 
them. He wanted to hide beneath vie; as the 
shadow was tempting, and he did n't know that 

I was a living thing. The dressing-gown hid my 
moving feet. 

Like the alphabet or the telephone, it is very 
simple when you know it, but very mysterious 
when you don't. 

Now for the third trick : A charmer can, by 
a simple motion of his hand, make a moving 
snake stop instantly. 

The reason is this : A snake is a most timid 
animal. His eyes, as has been said before, while 
dull to color and form, are quick to motion, 
especially if it is rapid. If any large thing 
moves very quickly, too near him, he gets 
frightened and scurries off; while at certain 
distances, the motion stops him if he be moving. 
He stops from astonishment, fear, or the wish 
to see what it is that moves. Hence he glides 
on, unconscious of the charmer's presence near 
him so long as the latter remains perfectly 
quiet ; the snake does n't know him from a tree 
or a rock. But when he gives a sudden evi- 
dence of life, the snake is astonished, and im- 
mediately remains stock still. 

In the fourth trick, the charmer makes the 
cobra dance, with or without music. In India 
and Africa the charmers pretend the snakes 
dance to the music ; but they do not, for they 
never hear it. A snake has no external ears, 
and perhaps gets evidence of sound only through 
his skin, when sound causes bodies in contact 
with him to vibrate. They hear also through the 
nerves of the tongue, but do not at all compre- 
hend sound as we do. But the snake's eyes 
are very much alive to the motions of the 
charmer, or to the moving drumsticks of his 
confederate ; and, being alarmed, he prepares 
to strike. A dancing cobra (and no other 
snakes dance) is simply a cobra alarmed and 
in a posture of attack. He is not dancing to 
the music, but is making ready to strike the 

The fifth trick is thus explained : The cobra 
is perhaps the most nervous of all snakes. 
After being teased a little, a blow from a light 
instrument, such as a lead-pencil, will throw 
him into a state of collapse, when every muscle 
becomes rigid as in tetanus or "lockjaw." If 
allowed, he will remain still as if dead and stiff 
as a stick for half an hour. To restore him the 
charmer catches him by the tip of the tail, and 




gives him a sudden jerk up from the ground. 
This stretches the spine, relaxes the tension of 
the muscles, and the snake is again imme- 
diately "dancing" to attack. Again and again 
this can be repeated. 

As to the sixth : An enraged boa-constrictor 
will hiss as loudly as a small steam-engine, and 

The wide mouth of the sack he gathers up 
with his left hand, drawing it somewhat tightly 
round the neck. If with his right hand, now, 
he feels the snake trying to push forward into 
the bag, he quietly lets go, and the boa crawls 
into the darkness of the interior, thinking he is 
hiding. If, on the contrary, the snake pulls his 


bite viciously and repeatedly at any one who 
approaches him. The charmer takes an empty 
sack, and holds it before him like a screen. He 
moves very slowly (rapid motion would make 
the snake bite), and covers the snake with it, 
taking notice where the head is. Then he runs 
his hand quickly underneath, grasps the snake 
gently but firmly round the neck, spreads out 
the sack and draws the opening over the head. 

head back, the charmer scratches the tail, a 
thing which all boa-constrictors dislike. This 
annoyance will cause the snake to shoot for- 
ward and coil in the bottom of the sack, think- 
ing that he has at last reached safety from 

The seventh trick may be thus explained : 
The charmer takes the snakes, and places them 
over his shoulders and arms. ■ They are not 



alarmed at his gentle action. Then he remains 
perfectly still, the snakes seeming to regard 
him as a convenient tree for crawling on, and 
his outstretched arms as branches to cling to. 
Then a confederate approaches and teases 
them. They forget the motionless charmer, 
but will naturally fly at any moving person 
who approaches him. 

In the eighth trick, the charmer places a vi- 
cious snake on a table, and excites him to the 
highest anger, so that he becomes almost unap- 
proachable. Then, with his left hand raised 
and moving in jerks, he slowly draws near to 
the snake, who, disregarding the gently moving 
body and motionless right hand, does his best 
to bite the threatening left. Now while the 
left hand is still moving and the snake's at- 
tention is well fixed on that, the hitherto quiet 
right hand swoops suddenly on the snake, and 
lifts him from the table in a twinkling. The dis- 
traction thus caused by the right hand is but a 
slight momentary surprise, while the left remains 
all the time a constant menace, and to it the en- 
raged snake confines his whole attention. 

In the next feat a bough is suspended in the 
center of the room, and some snakes are placed 
on it. This is done very gently, so that the ani- 
mals are not frightened. Then the man stands 
close by, motionless as a statue. The snakes are 
alarmed by a confederate coming up rapidly 
on the other side, and fly from him, leaving 
the branches and climbing over the charmer 
as over a convenient tree. They do not know 
that his motionless form is anything to fear, 
and having no other place to escape, they 
crawl out to the extremities of his outstretched 
arms. Then the confederate irritates them, and 
they will bite at him or any one else, but there 
is nothing to cause them to attack the motion- 
less charmer. 

Thus it will be seen that the secret of the 
snake-charmer is a perfect knowledge of the 
ways and powers of snakes, and of their likes 
and dislikes. Of course he must know more 
than this. He must be able to tell what kind 
of snake will suit each purpose best, because 

a snake that will do for one performance may 
not suit another. 

The snakes used by the charmers in this 
country are generally boa-constrictors, pythons, 
or other harmless kinds, so that if they do bite 
no evil effects will follow. The deadly snakes 
are generally rather small. Three feet would 
be about their average size. The family of the 
boas and pythons, to which belong ail the very 
large snakes of the world, contains no venomous 
species. Large snakes allow themselves to be 
pulled about in a way that their smaller brethren 
would quickly resent. The boa-constrictor is 
especially mild and gentle; but, when once an- 
gered (which the charmers here take care shall 
not happen) he is exceedingly fierce, and will 
not become calm again for a considerable time. 

In addition to this mildness of temper, our 
comparatively cold climate renders them slug- 
gish of movement, and ofteher still they are 
weakened by bad treatment. Few of them are 
fed properly or sufficiently. As a starved race- 
horse loses his spirit, so does the noble boa, 
when weakened by hunger, lack his native fire 
of resentment. 

Like men, they seem to have their peculi- 
arities of temper, and each species has likes 
and dislikes proper to itself. A knowledge of 
these is the secret of handling snakes. For 
the charmer to puff his breath in the face of a 
boa-constrictor is an indignity which would call 
forth a loud and prolonged hiss from even the 
meekest of his tribe. Should this insult be 
several times repeated, the gentle character dis- 
appears entirely, giving place to anger and a 
display of hissing and biting, such as no other 
serpent is capable of exhibiting. 

Many persons have imagined that snakes be- 
come tame, in the sense in which we apply 
that word to birds and quadrupeds ; but this is 
entirely a mistake. The master comes to know 
the animal's ways, and he treats it accordingly. 
A snake that is often handled submits to it more 
readily, after a time ; but even if born in a house 
(and I have had such) snakes will never cease 
to be wild snakes, for they cannot be tamed, nor 
can they learn to distinguish persons. 

Vol. XX.— 

35 • 





(JVarcissus Poeticus. ) 

By Mrs. R. Swain Gifford. 

HEN English 
children go 
they find, in 
places,by lit- 
tle brooks, 
the beautiful 
" poet's nar- 

This is a 

very ancient 

flower, for it 


even as long 

ago as when 

the gods and 

goddesses were supposed to live on the earth. 

The old Grecian legends say it was the 

flower the maiden Proserpine was gathering 

when Pluto took her away to his dark home 

under ground. Another legend tells about a 
beautiful youth named Narcissus. His father 
was a river god named Cephissus, and his 
mother a nymph called Liriope. The wonder- 
ful beauty of the youth caused many to love 
him, but he was cold and indifferent to all. 

A poor little nymph called Echo loved him 
so dearly that she pined away and died because 
he would not care for her. 

At last Nemesis, the goddess of retribution, 
decided to punish him for his hard heart. 

She caused him to fall in love with his own 
image as he looked into a stream, and as he 
could never reach this beautiful reflection, he 
gradually perished with hopeless love. 

His body was changed into the beautiful 
flowers, which have, ever after, borne his name. 

For, as his own bright visage he surveyed, 
He fell in love with the fantastic shade; 
And o'er the fair resemblance hung unmov'd, 
Nor knew, fond youth ! it was himself he loved. 
Addison's "Ovid." 


By Edith M. Thomas. 

Far in the woods — the fresh green woods — in May 
There sang a bird; but all it found to say 
Was "Keep it! keep it ! " all the merry day. 

The bird? I never saw it, no, — not I! 

I followed, but it flitted far on high; 

And "Keep it! keep it!" — Echo caught the cry. 

I was so glad, as through the woods I went! 
And now I think that "Keep it! keep it!" meant, 
" Child, keep each happy thought that Heaven has sent." 


•J* r-' f '•>'•■ i 

- \ ■ < ( - - 


By Marian Douglas. 

AppLE-bloom and lilac, 

Oh, how sweet they smell ! 

Bob o' Lincoln, hear him 
Like a silver bell ! 

Round the barn the swallows, 
Loudly twittering, dart; 


All things speak of springtime ; 

See the tinman's cart ! 
Pans and pails a-glitter, 

Great brooms mounted high, 
Big and little dippers, 

Like those in the sky; 




Stopping at each farm-house, — 
" Is the lady in ? 
Have you any rags, ma'am? 

Do you want some tin ? 
Tin or wooden ware, ma'am, — 

Will you trade with me ? " 
Oh, a traveling tinman 

I should like to be ! 
Everybody knows him, 

Every one he knows; 
Through the pleasant summer 

Jogging round he goes. 

All the world about him 

From his cart he sees, — 
Fields of purple clover, 

Murmuring with bees ; 
Gardens full of roses, 

Brook-sides blue with flags,- 
Asking at each farm-house, 
" Have you any rags ? 
Tin or wooden ware, ma'am ,- 

Will you trade with me ? " 
Oh, a traveling tinman's 

Is the life for me ! 


By Poultney Bigelow. 

Once upon a time many years ago when 
animals could talk, there lived a very naughty 
monkey whose name was Monkey-Moke. Now 
Monkey-Moke used to tease the cat by pulling 
her tail when she lay fast asleep on the carpet ; 
Monkey-Moke was known also to run after little 
chickens and frighten them very much; and when 
his mother was reading, as monkeys did in 
those days, Monkey-Moke often made so much 
noise that his mama grew very angry and said 
she would punish him if he did not behave better. 

But Monkey-Moke kept on being naughty ; 
kept on teasing the little pussy-cat ; kept on 
running after the chickens ; kept on making a 
noise when his mother wished him to be quiet, 
and at last got so bad that nobody invited him 
any more to tea-parties, and people said he was 
too naughty for nice little monkeys to play with. 

One morning Monkey-Moke seemed to the 
family to have so bad a headache that he could 
not go to school, so his mama said he might lie 
in bed and play with his new box of wooden sol- 




diers. But Monkey-Moke was perfectly well, and his mother. But he saw no one, so he cautiously 

only made-believe have a headache so that his climbed out upon the window-sill and jumped 

mama would let him stay away from school. from there on to the branch of a large chestnut- 

So, when his mama left the room to go down- tree that grew very near the house, and then 

stairs and prepare the dinner, Monkey-Moke he climbed carefully from branch to branch 

quickly jumped out of his bed and began to until he came to the bottom, 

dress himself, taking great care to make no By this time he was very red in the face 

noise, for he was afraid somebody might hear and out of breath from his hard work, and, 

him and make him go back to bed. besides, his new coat and trousers were a lit- 

But he did not put on his old clothes which tie mussed; so he pulled out his handkerchief 

he wore to school. This naughty Monkey-Moke and brushed himself off, then wiped his face 

went to the cupboard where his mother kept the and hands and started off for a walk over the 

cleanest Sunday clothing, and pulled out the 
very nicest, freshest clothes he could find. He 
put on a pair of yellow trousers, a red coat, a 
very high collar, a cravat covered with large 
blue spots, a high hat, and took a walking- 
stick with a gold knob at the end 

fields to play with some other naughty little 
monkeys that lived in the next village. 

But the day was rather warm ; his new shoes 
were a little tight ; his high hat felt heavy ; his 
Sunday coat seemed too hot, and his 
new trousers were not very com- 


When he had finished dressing he strutted up 
and down before the looking-glass, and said to 
himself, "I think I am a very pretty monkey 

Then he opened the window and peeped out 
to see if any one was looking, for he was very 
much afraid that some one would come and tell 

fortable. He began to think he was getting 
tired and would like to have something to eat; 
but he had nothing in his pocket except his 
pocket-handkerchief, so he had to go on. 

At last, however, he saw a big cow eating 
grass by the side of a beautiful little pond, and 
he said to himself, " I will go up and speak to 




Mrs. Cow and ask her to give me a ride." So 
he walked up to Mrs. Cow and said, " Good 
morning, Mrs. Cow. How do you feel, this fine 
morning ? " 

" Very well, thank you," said Mrs. Cow, going 
on with her breakfast. " I hope you feel well 
too, Mr. Monkey-Moke." 

" No, indeed, Mrs. Cow," said Monkey-Moke; 
" I feel very badly; for I have been walking a 
long distance, and my feet hurt me. I am very 
hungry, and I am anxious to get to the next 
village before noon." 

AVhen Mrs. Cow heard this she felt very sorry 
for Monkey-Moke, and so she said to him, 
"Well, Mr. Monkey- Moke, as I am a very big 
cow, and you are a very small monkey, and as 
you are very tired, perhaps you would like me 
to give you a ride on my back." 

on to my tail and climb on until you reach my 
back, and you can sit there while I give you a 

So Monkey-Moke put his walking-stick be- 
tween his teeth, planted his high hat firmly 
on his head, and buttoned his coat up tight; 
then he climbed up the cow's leg and took 
hold of her tail, and in a very short time was 
nicely seated on the back of the big cow. Then 
the cow began to move slowly, and Mr. Mon- 
key-Moke enjoyed himself very much; in fact, 
he forgot that he was tired and hungry, and 
began to tease Mrs. Cow. 

First he took his long tail and tickled Mrs. 
Cow's ears ; then he took his walking-stick and 
poked Mrs. Cow in the side ; then he began to 
scratch Mrs. Cow with his long nails, and at 
last he began to pull out Mrs. Cow's soft hair. 



" Indeed," said Monkey-Moke, " I should 
like that very much, and if you let me have a 
ride on your back, I will be very good and 
thank you very much." 

" Very well, then," said Mrs. Cow; " climb up 
my hind leg until you reach my tail, then catch 

This was very naughty, so Mrs. Cow began to 
scold Mr. Monkey-Moke. She said: 

" Now, Mr. Monkey-Moke, if you don't stop 
teasing me right away, I sha'n't carry you any 
longer, but shall drop you here and let you walk 
all the rest of the way in your tight shoes." 

i8 93 .] 



But Monkey-Moke held on to Mrs. Cow and 
said: " Oh, I am not afraid of you, Mrs. Cow; 
and I sha'n't get down, and I shall do as I 
please, and I shall tease you just as much as 
I please ; and I am holding on so tight to your 
hair that you can't throw me off, and therefore 
you have got to carry me to the next village." 

Then Mrs. Cow became very angry and 

"Mr. Monkey-Moke, you ought to be ashamed 
of yourself. You promised to be very good and 
behave well, but instead of that you have been 
beating me and scratching me, and now I shall 
not carry you any more, so get right down this 
very moment." 

But Mr. Monkey-Moke laughed very loud, 
and went on beating Mrs. Cow with his stick, 
and pulling her hair out with his fingers. 

Then Mrs. Cow said to herself: 

" I shall ask Mr. Monkey-Moke once more 
to get down off of my back, and if then he is still 
naughty and will not go away, I will jump into 
the pond full of water and wet his new clothes." 

So she once more called out to Mr. Monkey- 
Moke : " Please, Mr. Monkey-Moke, do get 
down from my back, because you hurt me very 

But Monkey-Moke would not; on the con- 
trary, he went on teasing Mrs. Cow. 

Then what do you think happened ? 

Mrs. Cow stuck her tail right out straight to 
show that she was very angry, and then ran very 
hard toward the water. Mr. Monkey-Moke 
became very much frightened, because he did 
not like the water at all, and usually cried when 
his mother gave him his bath in the morning. 
He tried to make Mrs. Cow stop by promising to 
be good, but it was too late — on and on rushed 
Mrs. Cow, Mr. Monkey-Moke holding on very 
tight. At last there came a great splash, and 
Mr. Monkey-Moke felt the cold water trickling 
up his nose, down his ears, and into his eyes. 
When he tried to speak the water rushed into 
his mouth, and he was afraid that he would be 
drowned. He thought of his dear mama at 
home, of his warm little bed and of his bowl of 
bread and milk, and said to himself that if he 

once got away from this water he would never 
again be a naughty monkey. While he was 
struggling in the water, Mrs. Cow gave him a 
push with her nose and once more put him 
on land, much to Mr. Monkey-Moke's delight. 
Mrs. Cow then told him to run home straight to 
his mama and tell how naughty he had been 
and promise to be a good boy afterward. 

So Mr. Monkey- Moke picked up his stick and 
his wet hat and ran home as hard as he could. 
His collar and his trousers and his coat and 
his new cravat were all spoiled by the water, 
and his mother was very angry at him. Then, 


again, he caught a bad cold and the doctor had 
to be called, who gave him some very nasty 
medicine to take, and made him stay in bed for 
six days eating nothing but gruel without any 

But, in the end, it did Mr. Monkey-Moke 
good, for he did not tease Miss Pussy-Cat any 
more ; nor did he frighten the little chickens ; 
nor make a noise when his mother wanted to 
read, and above all he was very careful not to 
tease Mrs. Cow. 





Mv FRIENDS: I hear there is to be a World's 
Fair in Chicago this year, and that it opens this very 
month. To my thinking, there 's a world's fair 
every year, and a grand one, too, that opens here 
always at about this time, — the greatest floral and 
agricultural show on record; — but Chicago, I 'm 
told, intends to introduce manufactures, arts, and 
all sorts of wonders and achievements drawn from 
nearly every part of the earth; so I suppose Aer 
show, like herself, really is to be the very biggest 
thing ever known. Well, the Deacon and the 
dear Little Schoolma'am — and, therefore, my 
honored self — all agree that this show, this grand 
Columbian Exposition, as it is called, is a matter 
in which our whole country is interested. Yes, 
and it 's an excellent thing for this noble Republic 
to do in celebration of a certain 400-years-ago 
historic event which has been mentioned several 
times lately in the very best circles. The great 
discovery cannot be too warmly remembered, too 
splendidly honored, and I heartily hope that the 
intrepid Christopher who (as the Little School- 
ma'am says) carried a good solid quarter of this 
earth on his Genoese shoulders, has the joy, 
wherever he may be to-day, of knowing just what 
the new country he brought into view is turning 
out to be. 

Now we '11 give our attention to 


Dear Jack: On looking over some of the old num- 
bers of St. Nicholas, I came across that of June, 1889, 
in which is an article called "The ^Esthetic Wasps"; 
it reminded me of a similar incident of last summer. 

I was spending a few weeks at my aunt's along the 
Neshaminy, and employed part of my time crocheting. 
Near the open window stood the sewing-machine, where 
I was accustomed to leave my work when not busy with 
it. One day — it was particularly warm and drowsy — 
my work lay idle all the morning. In the afternoon I 
took it up and had just commenced upon it, when I 

noticed two little green worms, such as are found among 
the timothy-grass (those upon which wasps and other 
large insects feed), lying in my lap. I jumped up in 
great fear, as though I had seen a snake. Stooping down 
to brush them outdoors, instead of two, there were five 
worms on the carpet. Where had they come from ? 
I shook my gown, but found no more until after tea, 
when again I resumed my lace, and behold ! again I 
spied a worm in my lap. Just then I noticed the peculiar 
appearance of one end of my spool, and on examination 
it proved to be stopped up with mud, while the other end 
was still open, whence came the little worms. A mud- 
wasp had apparently come in through the open window, 
and seeing my spool, thought she would save herself the 
trouble of building a house as her sisters had done under 
the eaves of the porch. 

We all watched the machine to see her return (we had 
before noticed a wasp flying round, but thought nothing 
of it), and we soon saw her return with her burden, and 
go into one of two or three spools lying there. I picked 
up the smallest, a No. 60, and aunt, with the crochet- 
needle, broke into the mud-sealed ends and out fell more 
than a dozen worms ! How crowded they must have 
been! The mud- wasp, as we know, builds her house, 
in which she lays the eggs, then gathers small worms 
for the young to feed upon, before sealing up the doors 
of her dwelling. But this wasp was either too lazy or 
too much oppressed by the exceedingly warm weather, to 
huild the walls of her own house. Yours truly, M. 


Would you believe it ? the flowers actually talk 
to each other sometimes, though perhaps nobody 
but a Jack-in- the-Fulpit can understand them. 
And I now find out that the violet is rather tired 
of being always called " modest," and the rose of 
being considered "proud" and "queenly," while 
the poppy insists that it does not always "flaunt" 
its petals, and the lily claims that it is not "de- 
mure." This little story of a modest rose and a 
bold violet will show you how the flowers them- 
selves may sometimes feel, though no doubt the 
wise human folk will go on writing about the 
"haughty" rose and the "modest " violet just as 
if it never could be otherwise. 

Here is the story : 

" Once there was a superb red rose, who, 
though she had been much admired, hung her 
head modestly and longed to hide herself in the 
shadows of the garden. 

"'It is so light up here,' she said to herself, 
' and everybody can see me. I wish they would not 
put me in so conspicuous a place. Besides, I 'm 
beginning to fade.' 

"'Don't you like it?' whispered a violet near 
by. 'I do.' 

" The rose, naturally shocked at this remark 
from a violet, made no reply, but bowed more 
meekly on her stem as if striving in some way to 
atone for her companion's audacity. 

" ' Yes,' continued the bold violet. ' I like it. 
I learn through the children's comments that I 'm 
not only sweet, but I 'm lovely, and, above all, I 'm 
modest. All this is delightful, and I 'm thankful 
that I can make myself so agreeable.' 

"Then the bold violet turned its face to the 
light, squared its pretty shoulders, and swayed in 
the breeze. 

"Soon the children came to the window and 

i8 93 .. 



leaned out upon the stone sill where stood the rose- 
tree and the violet. 

"Then the eldest child daintily severed the 
humble rose from its stem and cast it away, saying 
crossly, ' Bother ! why did you go and fade ? I 
intended to wear you at dinner.' 

" But both the children kissed the violet lightly, 
and praised it for remaining fresh so long. 

" 'You 're just as pretty as you can be — you 
little sweetness ! ' said the younger child, softly 
caressing it. 

" ' I know it,' thought the bold violet. ' Is n't 
it nice ! ' And she did n't hang her head one bit, 
but just swayed there in the breeze, squaring her 
pretty shoulders, and holding her face to the light 
till the sun went down." 

Here is a bit of observation sent you by your 
friend James Carter Beard. He not only describes 
certain funny "goings on" in Central Park, but 
most kindly sends you this picture of the scene, 
which he drew on the spot. He calls his true story 


All the birds and beasts in the zoological collection 
at Central Park have every clay at their meals a number 
of uninvited guests. Whether they like it or not, the 

animals on exhibition have to share their food with a host 
of greedy, noisy, saucy little visitors that cannot be 
driven away even by the eagles and vultures. These 
little visitors show their contempt for royalty itself by 
bearding the lion in his den, sharing his rations, and 
sometimes disturbing his naps when they alight upon 
his paw or his back. 

Of course the visitors referred to are English spar- 
rows; what other living creatures would be so bold? 
The animals most subject to their persecutions, and most 
submissive to them, are the prairie-dogs. These little 
animals are accustomed to entertain uninvited guests on 
the plains of Colorado and New Mexico, where they 
live when at home : guests such as rattlesnakes and the 
owls that not only live with them, but, not content with 
free lodgings, sometimes ungratefully eat up their hosts' 
little ones. 

As substitutes for owls and snakes, the sparrows in 
Central Park are indeed welcome to the prairie-dogs, 
though they always get more than a fair share of the 
daily lunch. Sometimes they peck their timid hosts when 
the latter attempt to sit at the " first table." The prairie- 
dogs, however, never seem to take offense, but chatter 
away to the sparrows and to each other in the best 
of spirits, glad to accept whatever the sparrows are 
pleased to leave them. Each dog or family of dogs has 
its own burrow, but they are constantly visiting one 
another, and holding town-meetings in the center of the 
space alloted them for their village. A happier, more 
peaceable, or more interesting community it would indeed 
be hard to find. 



/ V 


. r L.v\\\I J \ 

By Julia D. Cowles. 

Once upon a time there lived two fairies 
named Optie and Pessie. 

Now, Optie and Pessie were sisters, but you 
never would have guessed it in the world, for 
they did not look one bit alike. 

Each of these fairies had a very strange habit 
of always carrying about a pair of little glasses, 
through which to look at anything or anybody 
that interested her. 

One day they started out for a walk, tak- 
ing their precious glasses with them. 

They had not gone far when a toad hopped 
across the path. 

"What is that?" they both exclaimed ; and 
both put up their glasses to look. 

" Oh, oh, oh!" screamed Pessie. "It is a 
great big monster ! " 

"Why, no," answered Optie; "it is a very lit- 
tle thing, and quite harmless, I am sure." 

But Pessie had started to run away, and Op- 
tie's words could not stop her. 

" How foolish," thought Optie, " to run for 
such a little thing " ; and she stood watching 
the toad as he hopped away. 

The next day they started for another walk. 
When they reached the edge of the woods, they 

began to pick up the nuts which had fallen 
upon the ground. 

Suddenly Optie said, " Listen ! " High on the 
bough of a tree sat a bird singing as though 
his little throat would burst. Up went both 
glasses at once. 

" What a beautiful bird ! " said Optie. " And 
how charmingly he sings ! " 

" Pshaw ! " answered Pessie. " Do you call 
that little speck a beautiful bird ? I am sure I 
cannot see any beauty in it, and surely its song 
cannot be worth listening to " ; and she went 
on picking up the nuts and paying no attention 
to the music which filled all the air. 

Optie looked at her sister in surprise. Then 
she exclaimed, " I know, Pessie. You looked 
through the wrong side of your glasses." 

" No, I did n't," snapped Pessie. " I meant 
to look through that side." 

Optie tried to coax her just to try the other 
way and see how much nicer it was, but Pessie 
would not be persuaded ; neither would she lis- 
ten to the song. 

After a while some boys were seen coming 
through the woods, and our two little fairies hid 
behind a tree till they should pass. 


As one of the boys went by the tree, his foot 
struck the pile of nuts which had been care- 
fully gathered, and scattered them all among 
the grass. 

" Oh, dear ! " exclaimed Pessie, when they 
were by, stamping her foot and snatching up her 
glasses. " Just see what those great big boys 
have done ; and we will have all our work to do 
over, for see how far away they have scattered 
our nuts." 

" Oh, never mind," answered Optie, cheer- 
fully, as she peered through her glasses. 
" They were quite little boys, and probably did 
not notice them ; besides, it won't take long to 
pick them up again. They are only scattered a 
little way." And she set briskly to work, and 
had half of them picked up before Pessie had 
smoothed the wrinkles from her face. 

And so it always was. If anything pleas- 
ant came in their way, Optie always looked 
through the side of her glass which made it 
appear as big as possible, or if anything un- 
pleasant was discovered, she would look 
through the other side of her glass to make 
it seem very small and insignificant indeed; 
while Pessie always took the opposite course, 
and magnified the unpleasant things, but was 
quite unwilling that the good things should ap- 
pear as large as they really were. 

Of course Optie had a much better time 
than Pessie ; but she never could persuade her 
sister to look through the same side of the glass 
that she did, and finally she gave up trying, and 
laughingly declared that Pessie really enjoyed 
her way of looking at things, and so she should 
let her alone. 

Well, when Optie and Pessie grew older and 
had households of their own to look after, they 
still used their magic glasses, but by this time 
they had become so trained in the use of them 
that they could see people's thoughts and mo- 
tives as if they were the people themselves. 

One morning Optie said to Rainbow, her 
husband (he was always such a gay little fel- 
low that every one called him Rainbow) : 
" Now, dear, do remember to go to the Silk- 
spider's before you come home, and bring me 
some threads for my embroidery." 

Rainbow said he would ; but when he came 
back he had forgotten all about it ! 


Optie felt a little inclined to scold, for she 
very much wanted to finish her embroidery 
that day, but first she took up her glasses and 
looked right into Rainbow's mind. 

" It was a very little forget, after all," she 
said to herself; " not at all worth making any 
fuss about " ; and so Rainbow had his favorite 
supper of mushrooms and honey, and in the 
evening they both took a walk to the Silk- 
spider's, and the embroidery was finished the 
next day. 

At another time the little maid who did the 
housework neglected to set away the pail of 
water with which she had been washing the 
glass floors of their home, and one of the small 
Rainbows fell into the water. 

Optie ran to the scene of trouble, and her 
first thought was, " What a careless little maid, 
to be sure ! " But when she had looked for a 
moment at the pail and the dripping little 
Rainbow through those wonderful glasses, the 
whole affair seemed so small that she put Rain- 
bow Jr. into dry clothing in a twinkling, and 
quietly reproved the little maid, who inwardly 
blessed her and determined to be very careful 
in the future. 

At Pessie's home matters were very different. 

To begin with, her husband was called In- 
digo because he was always so very blue — and 
no wonder ! He had found he could not 
please his wife, try as he would, and so he 
had long ago given up trying ; and as no man 
can be expected to be happy who has not a 
happy home, he was just about the bluest 
man the world has ever seen. 

Then there were the little Indigos. The 
only streaks of real sunshine that ever came 
into their unhappy lives shone when they 
were permitted to go on a visit to their Aunt 

When they were at home, if a dress was torn 
or a knee worn through, their mother would 
look through her glasses sharply and declare 
that it was " done on purpose to make her 
more work, when goodness knew she had 
enough to do, anyway ! " and the offending 
Indigo would be sent to a closet or a corner 
to meditate upon the great wrong he had 

No willing little maid could be found to 




work for Pessie, although Mr. Indigo had 
scoured the country to find one. 

Pessie and her glasses were pretty well 
known, and people called her the cross fairy. 

After Optie and Pessie had used their glasses 
for a long time, they became enchanted so that 
Optie's glasses would magnify only the pleasant 
things and make the unpleasant ones look very 
small, and if used in any other way would 
make everything look confused and blurred. 

Pessie's glasses, too, could only be used as 
she had used them, and were worthless if looked 
through in the opposite way. 

One day a magician named Dispo Sition 

disguised himself as a beggar for the purpose 
of gaining possession of the wonderful glasses. 
He went to both Optie's and Pessie's houses, 
and soon afterward disappeared, and with him 
disappeared the two pairs of magic glasses ! 

He took them to his home, and made a 
great many like them, and distributed them 
all over the world. 

But every one has the power of choosing 
one of the two kinds, and those who choose 
the kind like Optie's are called Optimists, while 
those who choose the kind made like Pessie's 
are called Pessimists. 

Which sort have you decided to wear ? 


As illustrations to " The World's Fair Palaces " could 
hardly be more than portraits of the buildings, and The 
Century in discussing their architecture published as 
good pictures of them as could be secured, St. Nich- 
olas — by the courtesy of the editor of The Century — 
reprints for the boys and girls these excellent pictures. 
No doubt many young Chicago residents or visitors will 
notice the changes that have been made since the publica- 
tion of the official map of 1S92, from which the plan on page 
51S was drawn. 

Watervliet Arsenal, Troy, N. V. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We are three little girls who 
live at the Watervliet Arsenal. From our schoolroom 
window we can see the beautiful Hudson River and the 
city of Troy. 

But we want to tell you about an alphabet cake we 
had last week. Marion is only five years old and has 
just begun to go to school, and we were promised a cake 
as soon as she learned her letters. It took her a long 
time to learn them all. She had so much trouble with 
W and Q that we thought we were never going to get 
the cake. But now she knows them all, and can say 
them backward and forward and skipping around. So 
yesterday we had the cake. It was a lovely one, all 
frosted white, and with a yellow candle burning in the 
center. Marion blew out the candle and cut the cake 
and gave us each a large piece. Your little friends, 
Louie, Eleanor, and Marion. 

wore his first skin off, and since it has been replaced he 
is so changed that I have to call him an elephant. 
"Jumbo "is his name now. Your faithful little reader, 

Thomson K . 

Harwood, Maryland. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I enjoy all of your stories very 
much. When I was one year old Santa Claus brought 
me a toy dog — "Towser." I loved him so hard that it 

Cindad Porfirio Diaz, Mexico. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have taken you one and a 
quarter years now, and you are my best companion, as 
there are not many boys my size here. I am now twelve 
years old and have five sisters to protect. My favorite 
story- writer is Charles F. Lummis. We go riding here a 
great deal on our faultless little Mexican ponies. We all 
went a few davs ago to take a twenty-mile ride, and were 
not a bit tired. Once papa said he would tire us out, so 
he took us on a twenty-four-mile ride with few provi- 
sions, and camped three days ; but I do not think he suc- 
ceeded. Sometimes we don't come home till moonlight. 
Then is the time for teasing and drilling with papa. We 
are not left in the dark at night, as some seem to think, 
but have electric light. We are not left without a wash 
in the morning, but have water-power, etc. There are 
many nice Americans here. But most of them are in 
our little American colony. The town is very pic- 
turesque, for it has sidewalks higher than the street, sev- 
eral public schools, a Mexican army post, four or five 
plazas, and two dogs to every man, woman, and child — 
as it seems. 'T is very interesting to foreigners. All the 
houses (residences) are close up to the narrow streets, 
with the American front yard in back, and using the 
street for the trash. Although the Mexicans do not 
know what good things are, they are the happiest people 
in the world. There are a passenger bridge, built not 
long ago by an enterprising man, and a railroad bridge 




across the Rio Grande — the international boundary be- 
tween the United States and Mexico. I am the son of 
the general manager of the Mexican International Rail- 
road, which is the only railroad here. It owns large 
shops and in it all the repairs of the railroad are made, 
as well as those of the branch road of the Southern 
Pacific to Eagle Pass. There are 400 employees, and so 
when you look at the company's grounds (depot grounds, 
we call them) from afar, they look like a manufacturing 
establishment with all its employees' houses scattered 

There are few days when we have nothing to do. In 
the morning, school at home with our governess. We 
have learned to speak three languages. Then music 
lessons in the afternoon. Riding every day, running 
"around the block" with our seven dogs, exercising on 
the trapeze, and so on. Hoping that some day a great 
many more boys and girls will have the great privilege of 
seeing this wonderful " Egypt of America," as I have, and 
also that St. Nicholas will prosper for many years, 
I am your constant reader, 

j. A . S , Jr. 

My Persian Cat. 

I have the loveliest little cat 

In the world, it seems to me; 
As much of her as is not gray 

Is white as white can be. 
Her hair is very long and thick, 

And soft as carded wool, 
While her record as a mouser 

Is really wonderful. 

Her tail is the chiefest beauty 

Of all her varied store ; 
I almost think that it would do 

To make a ladies' boa. 
She is very aristocratic, 

And will not wet her feet, 
And she is quite particular 

About what she has to eat. 

Her ears are fringed so daintily, 

Her eyes are almost blue, 
And of such sweet dispositions 

I think there must be few. 
I do not know from where she came, 

This ball of white and gray ; 
I do not think I really care, 

Since she has come my way. 

But if anything sad should happen, 

And she should fade and die, 
I know full well what I would do — 

Just lay me down and cry. 
Oh ! she 's a darling little cat — 

There are no two ways about it ; 
And if you could only see her, 

I am sure you would not doubt it. 
Bertha E. C — 

Baldwinsville, N. Y. 

Dear St. Nicholas : You have been taken in our 
family for over sixteen years, or since 1876, and it would 
not seem like home without you. We have you bound, 
and rarely a day passes that the volumes are not used. 

I am fourteen, and have two sisters and two brothers 
and a little dog named " Kaiser." He is half Scotch ter- 
rier and very bright. My oldest sister has taught him 
a good many tricks. He can stand on his hind legs and 

walk, speak, sneeze, roll, beg, go lame, and when I go to 
school I say, " By-by, Kaiser," and he takes one of 
his front paws and waves it at me, and then when I am 
gone, he looks out of the window and watches me till I 
am out of sight, and then he will cry for some time 

I took a little trip to Ann Arbor, Michigan, this sum- 
mer, and went from Buffalo to Detroit by water. I was 
gone five weeks, and wore my traveling-suit all the time 
because a man stole my valise when it was being trans- 
ferred from the station to the dock, and I did not receive 
it until two days before I started for home, so I had quite 
a little experience. Your loving reader, 

Marnie V . 

Munich, Germany. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I think you will but very sel- 
dom receive letters from grandmothers. I am a German 
old grandmother, living in Munich, and very happy to 
receive all the year long dear St. Nicholas, sent 
through the unwearied kindness of young friends in New 
York. I should like to express to you my deep-felt grati- 
tude for all the precious hours my boys and myself spent 
reading this incomparable magazine ; and I hope that my 
grandchildren (whose grandfather, on maternal side, 
was your illustrious Bayard Taylor) will in a few years 
also be able to appreciate St. Nicholas as much as their 
parents and German grandmother have done. 

Yours sincerely, C. K . 

Poughkeepsie, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas: The question given in the in- 
closed rhyme was asked on a recent occasion by my 
little boy (who thinks a great deal of St. Nicholas). 
Yours very truly, Mrs. W. A. M . 

His Question. 

Joe Jefferson 's coming! 

'T was noticed each day, 
In newspaper ad's, 

And posters so gay. 
One small boy, evincing 

Great desire to behold him 
(On account of the charming 

Reports that were told him), 
But a trifle mixed 

As to men of renown, 
Asked, " When is Jeff Davison 

Coming to town ? " 

G. W. M . 

Baltimore, Maryland. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I will tell you of a trip I took to 
the Blue Mountains last summer. We formed a Walking 
Club almost as soon as we got there, and had about 
twenty-five members, boys, girls, and young ladies and 
gentlemen. We often walked between seven and ten 
miles a day, and would have walked more if some of the 
children had not become tired. One morning we got 
up at five o'clock and started for a place called The 
Devil's Race Course. We reached there at six o'clock, 
being about five miles, and when we got there we could 
see nothing but rocks and rocks, stretching over the 
whole country for miles and miles around. The Devil's 
Face, Hand, Cup, Table, Foot, Chair, and Coffin are 
formed by Nature from solid stone, and the most re- 
markable thing is a boiling spring that bubbles up in the 
forest of rocks all the time. The Race Course was said 



to be a bed of a river, and indeed I hardly think it could 
be much else. I also saw and went down into the cave 
where Jesse James and his notorious band hid them- 
selves. Your devoted reader, 

Elsa Rayner S . 

Cincinnati, Ohio. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have a brother Laurence and 
a sister Vida. I am the oldest, and we enjoy your lovely 
magazine very much. We have a lovely horse named 
*' Kate." She is very intelligent, and one day quite a num- 
ber of people were in our kitchen looking at her. She 
was standing hitched to the carriage with an old blan- 
ket on. She had a nicer one in the stable, and she knew 
it. So, with all those people looking at her, she pulled 
that blanket off with her teeth, and dropped it down in 
front of her, as much as to say, " I won't have you look- 
ing at me with this old thing on." She is not afraid of 
fireworks or bands of music. Your faithful reader, 

Mildred F . 

A Conversation Between the Clock and the Ink. 

Tick, tick, tick, went the clock, tick, tick. 
" Why ever on earth," said the ink, 
" Whatever makes you go so quick ? 
That 's what I cannot think." 

" I go so quick ? I 'm bound to go. 

But why ever on earth," said the clock, 
" Whatever makes you go so slow ? 

You 've always some in stock." 

So one day the clock said he 'd go slow. 

A gentleman said, " Does this clock lose ? " 
By the late train he had to go; 

There was no other to choose. 

The same day the ink said he 'd go fast. 

A schoolboy said, " Oh, bother these blots. 
My exercise will be the last ; 

The ink is thick and comes in knots." 

So here, you see, is a very bad plight : 
The clock went slow, the ink went fast ; 

The gentleman's train was just out of sight, 
And the schoolboy's paper was the last. 


Never try to be too ambitious. 

Walter B. O . 

(Eleven years.) 

Mountainville, N. Y. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I live on a farm of almost sixty 
acres. We have great fun playing around a brook that 
runs through our place. By we, I mean my little sister, 
who is four, and my brother, who is nine ; I am twelve. 

We have a dog named " Gipsy." We call her " Gip," 
for short. She has a pup named "Pingo. " Pingo is 
very funny. This morning she went down to our pond. 
The pond was just frozen over with a thin coating of ice. 
Pingo ventured out and fell through into the water. She 
started for the land, where Gip was wildly dancing up 
and down. When Pingo got quite near the edge Gip 
grabbed her by the ear and pulled her out. Pingo was 
very wet and cold, and went under the stove to get dry. 
Your constant reader, Effie W. P . 

Springfield, Mass. 
Dear St. Nicholas : My mama and I made this 
Hero Alphabet, and I wish you would please print it. 
We have read about most of these heroes together. I 
am seven years old, and have never written to you be- 
fore. Mama reads you to me every month. 

Samuel B . 

Hero Alphabet. 

A is for Ajax and Achilles, too; 

B is for Bayard <B's are very few). 

C is for Columbus, who sailed across the sea ; 

D is for David — dauntless was he. 

E is for Egbert, a conqueror reckoned; 

F for Frederick, the Great, and the Second. 

G for George Washington, our own hero he; 

H is for Hercules, as strong as could be. 

I for Idomeneus, who fought for old Greece; 

J is for Jason, who won the Golden Fleece. 

K. is tor King Arthur and his many knights ; 

L is for Lancelot, who conquered in most fights. 

M for Menelaus — at Troy he would not yield ; 

N is for Nestor, who bore the Golden Shield. 

O is for Olaf, a Norse hero brave ; 

P for Patrocius, who sought the Greeks to save. 

Q for Quixote, who went forth from his home ; 

R is for Romulus, who built the city Rome. 

S for Sarpedon, who helped in Trojan War; 

T is for Theseus, who slew the Minotaur. 

U is for Ulysses, gone for twenty years; 

V for Victoria, queen without peers. 

W for Wellington, who won at Waterloo ; 
X is for Xenophon, a great leader, too. 

Y for the Yorks, with their rose so white; 
Z is for Zeus, god of great might. 

Haverford, Pa. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I want to tell you something 
that I think will interest your readers, that a cousin of 
mine who has just come from Spain was telling me. She 
said she was staying at a hotel just before Christmas, 
when a little boy came to her and said he was afraid she 
did not keep Christmas as they did in Spain. She said 
that all the Americans kept it, and tried to explain how 
they hung up their stockings, and how Santa Claus 
filled them. He said that in Spain they would put their 
shoes outside the door, and the Wise Men came and 
filled them, because there are no fireplaces in Spain, as 
it is a warm country. Your little reader, 

Elizabeth Binney E . 

An Orange Packing-house. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I want to tell you about an 
orange packing-house. First they make the boxes, which 
I enjoy watching. They then bring in the fruit, and it 
is sorted, sized, wrapped, and packed. They scrub the 
fruit when they sort it, and size the fruit by letting it roll 
down two strips of diverging board and drop in boxes ; 
they wrap the oranges in tissue-paper. 

Verena W . 

We thank the young friends whose names follow for 
pleasant letters received from them: Eva S. , Elsie C, 
Marion E. B., Sophie M., Helen R., Willie S., Wayne 
W., Sumner G. R., Nan, Winifred F., Charles F. S., ]. 
M. D., " Six Sisters," Margaret R., Alfred C, Charles G., 
Abbie H., E. Helen L., Peter M., James H. Jr., Muriel 
S. P., Nellie Z., Gladys D. M., Anna J. N., Emily L. T, 
Bonnie O., Hamilton S. B., Ruth H., Ella A. K., Jessie 
B.,W. K. B., Helen DeF. B., Eleanor, Susie B., Kathryn, 
C. W. F., Ruth B., Wm. W. H. L., Arthur V. S., M. 
Madeline A., Genevieve C, Robert R. G., Willie J. B. 



■Word-Squares. I. i. Remora. 2. Elopes. 3. Morass. 4. Opaque. 
5. Result. 6. Assets. II. 1. Recess. 2. Ethnic. 3. Chaser. 4. Ensure. 
5. Sierra. 6. Scream. 

Triple Acrostic. Frances Hodgson Burnett. From 1 to 8, 
famish; 2 to 9, rancho; 3 to 10, abound; 4 to 11, noting; 5 to 12, 
caress; 6 to 13, Eskimo; 7 to 14, salmon. From 8 to 15, hobnob; 
9 to 16, ormolu ; 10 to 17, dagger ; 11 to 18, gallon ; 12 to 19, salute ; 
13 to 20, object ; 14 to 21, natant. 

Numerical Enigma. " Whoever is in a hurry shows that the 
thing he is about is too big for him." 

Word-bi'ilding. E, re, ern, rent, terns, astern, garnets, garments, 
streaming, stammering. 

Hollow Star. From i to 2, placard; 1 to 3, Pegasus; 2 to 3, 
darkens; 4 to 5, amalgam; 4 to 6, anagram ; 5 to 6, misterm. 

Zigzag. "A good hater." Cross-words: 1. Argo. 2. aGed. 
3. AmOs. 4. alsO. 5. daDo. 6. aHoy. 7. Akin. 8. ETon. 
9. amEn. 10. geaR. 

as he thinks." 

Puzzle. "Who lives without folly is not so wise 

Pi. Oh, strangely fall the April days! 

The brown buds redden in their light, 
And spiders spin by day and night; 
The willow lifts a yellow haze 

Of springing leaves to meet the sun, 
While down their white-stone courses run 
The swift, glad brooks, and sunshine weaves 
A cloth of green for cowslip leaves 
Through all the fields of April days. 

Novel Hour-glass. Central, healthful ; from 1 to 2, water ; 
from 3 to 4, setto ; cross-words: 1. shy. 2. steam. 3. wears. 

4. ale, 5. t. 6. the. 7. offer. S. truth. 9. old. 
Hollow St. Andrew's Cross: I. 1. r. 2. put. 3. ruler. 4. ten. 

5. r. II. 1. r. 2. cap. 3. raved. 4. pea. 5. d. III. 1. r. 2. ram. 
3. raged. 4. met. 5. d. IV. 1. d. 2. era. 3. dress. 4. ass. 5. s. 

To our Puzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the February Number were received, before February 15th, from " The McG.'s" — Josephine 
Sherwood — Helen C. McCleary — Paul Reese — Aunt Kate, Mama, and Jamie — Ida Carleton Thallon — L. O. E. — Alice Mildred Blanke 
and Co. — "Uncle Mung" — Chester B. Sumner — Stephen O. Hawkins — " Frely and the Gang" — Jay and I — Dudley and Maud 
Banks — Jessie Chapman — Gail Ramond — E. M. G. — "We Three" — "Leather-stocking" — " The Wise Five " — ''Maine and Minne- 
sota" — " Dad and Bill." 

Answers to Puzzles in the February Number were received, before February 15th, from Jack and Emma Schmidt, 1 — Eleanor 
Ogier, 1 — Florence B. Barrett, 1 — Fred. J. Emery, 1 — Elaine S., 2 — Minnie and Lizzie, i — G, T. Shirley, 3 — Henry H. Garrigues, 1 — 
M. L. Evett, r — Eva Bowden, 2 — "A Canadian Boy,"3 — Helen McGuckin, 1— Minnie Lind, 3 — Adele Carll, 1 — Maude E. 
Palmer, 12 — Jennie Thomas, 1 — A. H. R. and M. G. R., 12 — E. H. C, 1 — "We Two," 4 — "Cuban Giant," 3 — Ruth Edmund- 
son, 1 — Carrie Chester, 2 — " Cuffs and Collars," 1 — L. H. K., 2 — Alice C. Adenaw, 2 — "Oliver Twist," 6 — Adria and Ranee, 6- — 
" Broncho Harry," 6 — Geo. S. Seymour, 6 ■ — Sallie, Rekah, and Maude, 6 — Mama, Sadie, and Jamsie, 9 — "Old Riddler," 1 — F. C. 
Dutton, 1 — Charles Mench and Andrew Judson, 1 — " Infantry," 12 — " The Three Wise Ones," 6 — " Mr. Micawber," 3 — Ida M. 
Wilson, 1 — K. Valentine Langdon, 3 — May G. Martin, 2 — Two Little Brothers, 5 — Eddie N. Moore, 8 — Charles Shedd, 1 — Prentice 
Rodgers, Jr., 1 — Charlotte A. Peabody, 6 — Ethel W. Davidson, 1 — Tilda Wolfson, 5 — Hubert L. Bingay, 8 — Melville Hunnewell, 7 — 
J. L. M., 8— G. R. W., 4— May tie E. Simpson, 1— Vincent Beede, 7 — Welford P. Saroni, 1— John W. Thomas, 1 — H. W. Plum- 
mer, 2 — Marguerite, Annie, and Emily, 6 — Clara Mayer, 2 — Bessie R. Crocker, 10 — Mama and Harry, n — Mama and Karl, 5 — 
June, 9 — Addison Neil Clark, 5 — Arthur Barnard, 1 — " Chloe 93," 10 — Elizabeth C. Grant, 5 — Rosalie Bloomingdale, 12 — Rose 
Ottolengin, 12 — Jo and I, 12 — Elizabeth, 7 — D. A. and R. Huey, 11 — Edith M. Newton, 5 — Elinor Barras, 6 — Anna and Marga- 
ret, 12 — ".Two Sage Judges," 4 — "We Girls," 9 — Adrienne O. Forrester, 5 — "Me and the Other Fellow," 2 — Mama, Maude, and 
Ethel, 10 — "Three Blind Mice," 5— Marie, 1 — E. C. D., 1 — Charles F. Bookinger, 1— Garret A. Randall, 1. 


Each of the objects shown in the accompanying illus- 
tration may be described by a word of five letters. 
When these are rightly guessed, and placed one below 
another, in the order in which they are numbered, the 
central letters, reading downward, will spell the name 
of a famous naturalist who was born in May. M. 


A lizard. 

5. De- 

I. Upper Square: i. A military title. 2. 
3. The sides of a door. 4. A game at cards, 

II. Left-hand Square : 1. A governor. 2. Custom. 

3. Extensive. 4. Incited. 5. Pastoral pipes. 

III. Right-hand Square: i. Flat round plates. 
2. A kind of tape. 3. A quantity of yarn or thread. 

4. Cuts. 5. Understanding. 

IV. Lower Square: i. Drives along. 2. Droll. 3. A 
fish. 4. More horrible. 5. To terrify. 


5 6 ° 


/ .!, 


^j>j ( 



I. In Ceylon. 2. A tooth. 3. A feminine name. 4. A 
chair fitted to the back of a mule, for carrying travelers 
in mountainous districts. 5. A consequence. 6. A long 
and narrow corridor. 7. Perceives. S. To put to the test. 
9. In Ceylon. H. 


I AM composed of fifty-one letters, and am a quotation 
from Lord Chesterfield's works. 

My 34-44-12-51 is stillness. My 10-25-49-29-21 is 
to inscribe. My 17-23-31-39 is to gather. My 1-19- 
15-7 is not any. My 5-38-9-45-32 is pertaining to a 
very famous city. My 36-4-47-14 is an equal. My 
24-4S-20-42 is crooked. My 3-43-50-27-46 is one who 
votes. My 22-11-37 is to repose. My 33-16-26-41-6 
are sounds. My 30-13-2-40 was the vulnerable part of 
Achilles. My 2S-8-35-18 is to consider. POLLY. 


I. Upper Diamond : 1. In crumpets. 2. Unmean- 
ing talk. 3. The musical scale. 4. Contrivances for tak- 
ing pictures. 5. An engraver's tool. 6. A color. 7. In 

II. Left-hand Diamond : 1. In crumpets. 2. The 
queen of the fairies. 3. Enchantment. 4. Tower-like 
buildings of the Hindoos and Buddhists. 5. A small 
horse. 6. An animal. 7. In crumpets. 

III. Central Square : 1. Persons called on to at- 
tend a civil officer. 2. Frequently. 3. A beginning. 

4. To work for. 5. To come in. 

IV. Right-hand Diamond: 1. In crumpets. 2. A 
vehicle. 3. A large, strong rope used by sailors. 4. A 
vivid representation. 5- The cry of a sheep. 6. To 
consume. 7. In crumpets. 

V. Lower Diamond : 1. In crumpets. 2. The 
name of a famous dog. 3. Values. 4. An idle talker. 

5. To slander. 6. To behold. 7. In crumpets. 

F. \v. F. 

A land of fans will my first be found ; 
And birds are all my second ; 
To my third you are by honor bound ; 
My fourth a lagoon may surround ; 
And my fifth a name is reckoned. 

eldred iungerich. 

Across: i. A stratum. 2. Nautical. 3. Rhythm. 
4. A funeral song. 5. A furrow or band of fibers. 

Downward: i. In eloquent. 2. A useful little arti- 
cle. 3. A tropical plant. 4. Level. 5. One who rates. 

6. A feminine name. 7. A tear. 8. An exclamation. 
9. In eloquent. " NINA AND JEAN." 


One word is concealed in each sentence. When these 
fourteen words are rightly guessed and placed one below 
another, in the order here given, the initials will spell the 
name of a famous author, and the finals, one of his best- 
known books. 

1 . Alec approves of it all. 

2. Had Jim his hat on yesterday ? 

3. I am going to a lecture. 

4. Did you see the plaster of Paris katydid on the 
high shelf. 

5. Ethel owes me ten dollars. 

6. He lies down all day, they say. 

7. The sum actually amounted to four thousand 

8. This task I find irksome to a great degree. 

9. I will make Jim pay up at once. 

10. When he came, Ralph went out to meet him. 

11. Take Ephraim home. 

12. I wish I could see a gleam of sunshine. 

13. Make those lines connect around that point. 

14. Which do you like best — to sail or steam up the 
broad Hudson? W. H. B. 


Vol. XX. 


JUNE, 1893. 

Copyright, 1893, by The Centi*ry Co. All rights reserved. 

No. 8. 

— ■■ - , ^ i -"^ -"■,1..,'' 

■■■■V.-r 'fe^lkww 

One sees so 
many cities in so 
many different 
countries, but 
one never sees 
another city that 
is really like it. 
A curious 
spell rests upon 
it. It is the city 
of the springtime, and yet its life is almost en- 
tirely lived in the winter. In October and No- 
vember the people who disappeared in May, as 

' ■ I>v^jTTanct!'5. .Moclgson Burnett. 

if by magic, begin to return as if the same magic 
had called them back again. Houses begin to 
open, showing bright draperies and flowers in 
their windows, and servants about their doors; 
the streets begin to fill, the shops to wear 
brighter aspects; the hotels have a stirring air; 
carriages stand before doorways and bowl about 
the streets, the people in them seeming to know 
each other and exchanging welcoming greet- 
ings as they pass and repass. They nearly all 
do know each other. They went to each other's 
dinner-parties and balls and afternoon teas the 
past season, before the magic dispersed them, 





and they will go to them again now that it has 
once more called them together. But it is not of 
this aspect of the city that I am going to speak. 

Every one knows that on a certain hill which 
looks down upon the city there is a majestic 
white marble building upon whose stately dome 
a Goddess of Liberty stands poised, and that 
on the first Monday of each December the 
magic calls together within its walls a certain 
number of men chosen by the voice of their 
country as fitted to hold in their hands the fates 
and fortunes of a great nation. Every one 
knows that when the flags fly from the Capitol 
Congress is in session ; that when the dome 
glows out upon the darkness the work of the 
nation is being done by night; that while this 
work is being done, life in Washington is at its 
flood-tide, and that when it is finished for the 
year, the tide turns and is at ebb until it begins 

There is upon Pennsylvania Avenue, among 
a number of buildings all more or less noble in 
proportion and architecture, a large, rather dig- 
nified, though unelaborate house standing in 
its own spacious grounds. Its dignity perhaps 
consists in its well-sized, unmeretricious air. It 
is not a palace, and it seems not to feel it neces- 
sary to be one ; it is not a castle, and one is 
rather pleased that it has not attempted a cas- 
tellated air ; it is the White House, and the man 
who lives in it is by the decision of the people 
the ruler of sixty millions of thinking, working, 
planning human beings. 

In the guide-books one can read how many 
feet high the dome of the Capitol is, how large 
the Treasury, the Army and Navy Departments, 
the Pension Office, the Agricultural Depart- 
ment, and the Post Office are; but I think 
perhaps some boy or girl who knew nothing 
of these things might best describe the charms 
of the City of Groves and Bowers. 

It must seem charming to a small creature 
who knows only the bright side of all the things 
that happen in it and belong to it. 

To get up in the morning, if one is only six 
or seven, in a pretty nursery whose windows 
look out on a broad, clean, smooth avenue, with 
picturesque houses, and bands of green on 
either side, must be very nice. Even in the 
winter the sky is nearly always blue and the sun 

is so often shining that, though the double rows 
of trees are bare, they look pretty with their 
branches against the background of the sky, 
promising loveliness for the spring, and thick 
shade and room for birds when summer comes. 

If there is snow, they look beautiful with the 
soft white fleece clothing them; and when the 
snow falls off melted, little brown sparrows 
come and balance upon the twigs and call to 
each other, and make remarks about the weather 
and reflections on the hardness of the times and 
the scarcity of crumbs. 

There are so many trees — such rows and 
rows of them as far as one can see up the ave- 
nues and down them, and up and down the 
streets which cross them — and one's eye can 
always catch sight somewhere of a green circle 
or park, where there is a statue of some great 
man, about whom one can be told a story if 
one asks questions enough. 

In the morning the streets are quiet, but in 
the afternoon the carriages begin to roll through 
them. They all seem to be going somewhere 
in particular, and they all have ladies in them. 
To the occupants of the nursery windows in 
certain quarters covering quite a large area, it 
must seem that Washington is full of ladies who 
are always going to parties. In the streets of 
other cities there are always signs of many 
other things being done. There are passing 
people and passing vehicles evidently not going 
to parties ; there are wagons and vans loaded 
with merchandise of one sort or another; there 
are shabby or shabby-genteel people going 
about their anxious business, or roughly dressed 
working-people going to and from factories or 
warehouses or machine-shops. This city, which 
is really like no other, is unlike others in this 
respect — that there are no manufactories or 
huge works or shops. The only manufactories 
are the great white marble building on Capitol 
Hill, the Treasury, the Pension Office, the Army 
and Navy Departments, etc., and the work done 
in them does not necessitate the use of smok- 
ing chimneys and furnaces, and the employ- 
ment of overalls. 

The broad, steady stream of people going to 
their work through Pennsylvania Avenue at 
nine o'clock in the morning and returning from 
it at four in the afternoon, is a stream of hu- 

i8 9 3-J 



manity well dressed, well bred, and respectable. 
It is leisurely and looks comfortable whether it 
is so or not. The crowds which surge through 
London thoroughfares on bank holidays are 
not nearly so well clad and agreeable to con- 
template, even though they are not going to 
work, but are on festive plans intent. But they 
do not live in a city of groves and bowers, and 
they work and live much harder. 

The only people one sees in rags or asking 
alms are occasional negroes ; and they are very 

another. Inside there are to be seen ladies in 
lovely hats and bonnets. There are mamas in 
brocades and velvets and furs, and there are 
pretty slim girls in silks and velvets and soft 
feathers. They are going to make calls, to at- 
tend musicales or receptions or special after- 
noon teas, where they will meet scores of other 
mamas and pretty girls, and will talk and 
drink chocolate and nibble cakes or listen 
to some music, and then return to the carriage 
and roll away to another party. It makes the 

,-_=--. * 


^^f|fe^';\;, ng 

The White House. 

The Treasury Building. 


rare, and usually look rather as if their profession 
were a matter of preference. Of palpable, hope- 
less wretchedness one sees nothing. 

There are no tall factory chimneys pouring 
forth smoke to tarnish the blue sky and the 
white clouds floating upon it. It is rarely very 
cold, and dull skies are so uncommon that one 
feels one's self almost injured in one's surprise 
at two or three gray days. 

Through the nursery windows the childish 
eyes see only bright and amusing things. They 
must really be very well worth looking at from 
a nursery point of view — in fact, they must 
seem brilliant. The carriages roll by one after 

nursery wish itself a mama or a grown-up 

young lady with a lovely frock and bright 

eyes and furs and feathers. It hears a 

great deal about lunches and receptions 

and festivities of all sorts. The colored 

young ladies who preside in the nurseries 

frequently know a great deal of the doings 

of the party-going world. They are able 

to describe the grandeurs of the Army and Navy 

Reception at the White House, and they can 

often give information as to the floral decorations 

at the reception of the Secretary of State. 

It must be an exciting event for the nursery 
windows when an awning is erected next door. 
Then one sees many flowers carried in, palms 
and blooming things and numberless interest- 
ing packages and boxes. Carriages begin to 
drive up by the score, and when their doors 
are opened wonderful and beautiful personages 
descend, and the awning swallows them up. 
There are possible views of resplendent Chinese 
ministers and officials in embroidered satin 

5 66 



robes. " There 's the Secretary of War," says 
the nursemaid. " There 's the Russian Min- 
ister. That 's the beautiful young lady from 
out West that everybody 's talking about 'cos 
she 's so rich and handsome. There 's the 
senator that owns a silver-mine." 

One might easily imagine it suggesting Cin- 
derella's ball to the small watcher at the win- 
dow. The constant driving up of the carriages, 
the accumulating rows of them gradually filling 
the street, the strains of music fitfully heard, 
might well suggest that after it was all over 
there might be found somewhere a small glass 
slipper, even though the festivity is not a ball or 
given at midnight. 

So it is more than possible that, in the winter, 
Washington seems to young, untired eyes a 
sort of enchanted city with a habit of enjoying 
itself perpetually ; but it is in the spring that it 
shows its rarest enchantment, and blooms out 
day by day into the City of Groves and Bowers. 

The trees are all there in the winter, the 
grass is all there, the green of the parks and 
squares is there ; but they are waiting for the 
days when there are fewer parties, when the 
carriages roll by less frequently, and there is 
less to be seen by the watchers who look from 
the windows. 

Then — even in February — there come some 
wonderful days among the cold ones. They 
are like young daffodils scattered upon a gar- 
den covered with snow. Suddenly there is a 
strange, delicious softness in the air, the sun- 
shine is clearer golden, one lifts one's face and 
looks, with tender hopefulness and forgetfulness 
of things of earth, into the bright, flower-like 
lovely blue. Perhaps yesterday was wet and 
cold, but to-day it seems to be impossible to 
believe that cold and rain were not done with 
weeks ago, or that they can ever come again. 
One begins to think that the bands of grass 
which border the pavements, and the trim 
banks and lawns before the houses, are of a 
livelier green. It is natural as one passes under 
the branches of the trees to look eagerly for 
little pale-colored things pushing out in tight 
buds. In March these days scatter themselves 
rather more thickly among the cold ones, and 
one has unduly sanguine moments when one 
would scarcely be surprised by any unheard-of 

thing in the way of weather or growth. The 
tight little buds are pushing everywhere, and 
some of them are visibly plumper every day. 
In Lafayette Square, in Franklin Square, in 
Dupont Circle, and in fact in all the pretty 
parks and inclosures, one sees a certain bushy 
shrub which, instead of waiting for its leaves, 
has actually begun to clothe itself in yellow 
blossoms. Its slender, bending twigs are cov- 
ered from root to tip. It is a lovely, lovable, 
eager thing, and seems almost to send out its 
flowers to call for the spring instead of waiting 
until the spring calls for them. One sniffs the 
fresh, cold air in damp days, because it has in 
it the scent of things growing ; one draws it in 
with still greater eagerness in the soft, sunny 
ones, because there is in it the scent of these 
same growing things stirred and warm. 

The birds who alight on the trees where the 
tight buds are showing touches of green, linger 
and twitter more. They talk about nests, and 
mention their tastes in the matter of situation. 
There is so much choice in the matter of situa- 
tion that it must be almost confusing. If you 
are a Washington bird, you can have a nest on 
any avenue or street you like, and the parks 
provide accommodations which seem unlimited. 

Perhaps they say to each other things like 
these : 

" I must say I find Massachusetts Avenue 
most desirable," one bird might remark. " It 
is broad and quiet, and the society is good. 
The style of tree suits me. I prefer linden for 
the young. I consider the odor of the blossom 
good for infant digestion." 

" But Sixteenth street has tulip-trees," an- 
other would observe ; " and it does entertain 
them so to see the blossoms unfolding. The 
nest is really quite peaceful in blooming-time." 

" Well, perhaps I am old-fashioned," a third 
might twitter. " I dare say I am ; but give me 
a good shady maple. I have engaged a nice 
leafy branch in one on Connecticut Avenue." 

" Of course I am only a bride," I am sure 
some other would chirp coyly ; " and you may 
think me foolish and sentimental. I have just 
begged Robin to decide on one of those beau- 
tiful flowering trees in Lafayette Square. I 
think it would be so lovely to sit and twitter 
to each other among all the soft white blooms 

i8 9 3-] 



on moonlight nights. They seem so bridal and 
suitable to honeymoons." 

All through March the lovely days are com- 
ing and going, and each one is warmer than 
the last and does something new. 

In the squares there are afternoons when 
baby-carriages accumulate, and small things 
of all sizes totter or run about. Smart colored 
nurses begin to sit on the benches and talk to 
each other and watch their charges. On the 
branches over their heads there are tender 
green leaves instead of tight buds, and they 
are opening and spreading every hour. 

Early in April one looks up and down streets 
and avenues, through lines of delicate pale 
greenness. Little black or yellow boys begin 
to appear with bunches of arbutus tied tightly 
together, and offered for sale at ten cents each. 
On the mounds about the statues in the circles 
there are beds of crocuses, which later change 
by magic into tulips and hyacinths and adora- 
ble things that fill the air with perfume. 

As the days go on, the greenness grows and 
grows, and it is so fresh and exquisite that one 
becomes intoxicated with the mere seeing and 
breathing so much of the life of spring, and 
can think of nothing else. People who go out 
to walk compare the leaves on the different 
thoroughfares, and return to talk about them. 

" Are the lindens a little slow this year?" one 
says ; " or are the tulip-trees always earlier ? 
They are beginning to be quite full on Six- 
teenth street." 

In the grass near the railing surrounding the 
grounds of the White House, purple and yellow 
crocuses seem to spring up wild. They look as 
if they belonged to the woods. 

Soon the little colored boys have larger 
bunches of arbutus, and bunches of wild violets 
and pale blue starry things. They have gathered 
them in the woods about Rock Creek. The 
sun grows warmer, the rain that comes is de- 
licious ; there are more and more leaves on 
every side ; in the parks there are hyacinths 
and crocuses and scarlet japonicas and new 
things making buds for blossoms on trees one 
does not expect flowers from. And then some 
morning — somehow it always seems quite sud- 
denly — people, getting up, look out of their 
windows, and all the world is Spring, the very 

Spring itself. From a second or third story one 
looks down upon a forest — not a city, but a 
forest. It would be easy to pretend that it was 
an enchanted forest which some fairy had 
caused to flourish in the midst of a city, or 
an enchanted city which had been made to 
arise within the labyrinths of a forest. Trees 
are everywhere, and whichsoever way one turns 
it is to look down vistas of them — broad, beau- 
tiful vistas whose straight lengths seem to close 
in fresh, luxuriant greenery. In the narrower 
streets the branches almost spread from side to 
side, and one walks under an archway of 

It seems almost impossible to believe that one 
is in a town. The plan of the city gives so many 
vistas of green. A person standing in one of 
the circles sees in the center a statue with 
flower-beds brilliant at its base. From east to 
west this circle is crossed by one of the streets 
whose names are the letters of the alphabet, 
from north to south by one of those whose 
names are numbers ; diagonally it is crossed 
by avenues bearing the names of States; and as 
each of these is bordered by one or two rows of 
trees, — from east to west, from north to south, 
and diagonally, — the eyes follow the course of 
groves of linden, maple, tulip, sycamore, or 

Within short distances of each other are the 
bower-like squares which contain such blossom- 
ing as one seems to see nowhere else. It is not 
merely a matter of planted flowers or blooming 
shrubs. There are trees loaded with blossoms. 
They are not fruit-trees, but trees which bear 
burdens of flowers which seem, some of them, 
like specially sumptuous full-petaled apple or 
plum or peach blossom, or a splendid kind of 
English may. 

The bowers are full of children by this time. 
Their nurses sit looking at them; their little car- 
riages are drawn up at the sides of the walks. 
In some of these carriages, under swinging lace- 
covered parasols, tiny soft mites, not much older 
than the flowers, lie sleeping among downy 
white wraps and lace. They are part of the 
springtime. Small persons — very small ones 
in quaint hats and bonnets, and coats which 
seem much too long for them and give them a 
picturesque air of ancientry — toddle about and 

5 68 



tumble on the grass, and carefully pick up 
blossoms which have fallen from the trees, and 
— probably after sitting down with unsteady 
suddenness — proceed to examine them with a 
serious air of botanical studiousness usually 
losing itself in an earnest endeavor to cram 
them into a small, dewy red mouth. 

They are very pretty as they run or tumble 
or totter about — these little springtime things. 
Sometimes one sees a small one standing under 
a tree and looking up, wonderingly and rather 
questioningly, into the world of snowy or pink- 
and-white bloom above. It is so little, and it 
sees a great sky of lovely flowers over its head. 
Through this flower sky there are glimpses of a 
sky of blue; fallen blossoms are at its feet; flow- 
ers are blooming all about it in the bower it 
plays in. It is taken home through groves of 
greenery ; it looks out on a fair forest when it 
wakens. It thinks the world is made of fresh 
leaves and pinky-white blossoms, and as it 
looks up into the branches of bloom its snowy 
petal of a soul is full of the joy of living. 

And to the one who is taken for drives on 
these bright and blooming days, this leafy, flow- 
ery world must seem a boundless one. After the 
avenues and parks are left behind, one bowls 
along country roads where there is more green- 
ery still. Oh, the soft hills and dips of land 
covered with trees all busy attiring themselves 
in pale green veils and wreaths, because the 
Spring is passing softly by, whispering to each 
one of them ! 

" You are a maple," perhaps she whispers to 
one. " You must put out little red, velvet 
leaves — tiny ones, thick and soft, and wonder- 
ful. At first each one must be almost like a 
strange little flower." 

And to another : 

" You are a linden. You must make little 
blooming green tassels which delicately scent 
the air. As people pass under you they must 
say, ' How sweet the linden is ! ' " 

And to the tangles of bare briers : 

" You must begin to work industriously, be- 
cause you have so much to do. First, you 
must put out fresh green leaves until you are a 
waving garland. And then you know you have 
to star yourself all over with white blossoms. 
And by the autumn you must be weighed over 

with plump, juicy blackberries for the children 
to come and gather and laugh over, and stain 
their little mouths and hands and aprons with. 
You have no time to lose. You have a great 
deal to do." 

And to the dogwood : 

" Awake ! awake ! You are the beautiful 
wild white princess of the woods. Among all 
the beautiful things I give the world, you are 
one of the most beautiful. Cover yourself all 
over — to the end of every branch and twig of 
you — with large-petaled snow-white flowers. 
You must bloom until you stand out amongst 
the other trees like a splendid white spirit of 
spring, when the soft wind shakes you, and the 
sun shines through your boughs. All your work 
is done in the springtime. In the summer you 
have only to be green ; in the autumn you must 
be a lovely red, it is true ; but now you must be 
so beautiful that people will cry out with joy 
when they catch sight of you." 

And so they do. The children of the City 
of Groves and Bowers come back from their 
walks and drives in the country with great 
white branches over their shoulders. Some of 
them walk, some drive out to the beautiful 
Rock Creek, where trees grow close up hill and 
down dale, and where blue violets and anem- 
ones and other white and pink and purple 
things clamber down the banks and slopes to 
the water's edge. 

And then there is the Soldiers' Home, where 
there are woods again, and flowers, wild and 
tame, and ivy climbing over walls and bridges, 
and ground- and tree-squirrels scampering. And 
there are beautiful white buildings with all sorts 
of interesting things connected with them; and 
there are old soldiers who have been in battles, 
and who now sit warming themselves in the 
sun, or walk about slowly, or sit in arbors and 
smoke pipes and talk — perhaps telling each 
other thrilling stories about some of the very 
battles they were in. 

"Is that an old soldier?" little boys have 
asked with breathless interest. " Was he once 
in battles ? Has he been wounded with bullets 
and cannon-balls ? " 

And there is the big white hospital where the 
old soldiers are taken care of when they are 
ill — when the bullets and cannon-balls are 



5 6 9 

troublesome, or when they are invalided by 
maladies less martial. And there are mounds 
where one can stand and look out over a wide 
panorama of the country, the river, the wood- 
lands, and the City of Groves and Bowers 
itself; and in one place, in a road one is always 
driven through, there is an opening cut through 
the trees, and there the coachman — if the peo- 
ple are strangers — draws up the carriage and 
says, " This is the Vista, ladies and gentlemen." 
And then one looks down the vista of green 
trees, and at the end of it one sees the far-away 
white-domed Capitol, a beautiful, stately thing, 
shining in the sun on its Capitol Hill. 

It is a great, lovely, peaceful 
resting-place for the old soldiers /:'"' 
— this one the City of Groves 
and Bovvers has made. 

There is a very delightful 
thing which is one of the 
springtime events of the 
bowery city. It is not 
a social or a political ■* 
function, and it is an 
event I have never 
heard the origin of. 

It is the Egg-rolling 
on Easter Monday. 

Easter eggs, colored 
red and blue and yellow, 
and adorned with flow- 
ers and stripes, are de- 
lights known to the children 
of many countries ; but I think 
it is only in Washington that 
there exists a custom — which is 
almost a ceremony — of rolling the 
brilliantly hued things down grassy 
slopes by way of festivity. 

It strikes one also as being delightfully illus- 
trative of the power of the children's republic 
that the places chosen as most suitable for 
these festivities should be the private grounds 
of the presidential mansion — the White House 
itself — and the slopes of the grounds which 
surround the Capitol. 

If one wants to roll red and blue and yellow 
eggs down a sloping lawn, it appears that a 
little republican sees no reason why he or she 
should not roll them by the thousand down the 

lawn of a President's back garden. The slope 
is just the one required, and no President so far 
has been hard-hearted enough to go out on 
the portico and wave his hand and order the 
little intruders away; no Mrs. President has 
ever thrown a shawl over her head and run 
out to scold them and say she will not allow it. 

So every Easter Monday morning 
there is to 

oe seen 
an ever- 

. . ;■. 




ing stream of children of various sizes swarm- 
ing through the streets, all wending their way to 
the grounds of the White House. There are well- 
dressed ones attended by their nurses or rela- 
tives ; there are shabby little ones attended by no 
one at all ; there are some little black ones in a 




pleasing state of excitement; but everybody has 
a basket or package with colored eggs in it. A 
great many also have something which holds a 
little lunch. There is great excitement and 
rivalry about the color of the eggs and the num- 
ber each little person possesses. In a very short 
time, the President's back garden is a shouting, 
laughing, romping pandemonium. The enter- 
tainment consists in rolling the eggs from the 
top of the slope to the bottom of it. There is 
also the exciting sport of " egg-picking." One 
egg proprietor enters into a contest with an- 
other one, in which one egg is tapped against 
the other until one of the two is cracked. The 
proprietor whose egg is not cracked is the 
winner, and the stake won is 
the broken egg. 

Eggs are rolled and "picked," 
and broken and eaten. When 
the festivity is over, the Presi- 
dent's back garden and the 
slopes of the Capitol grounds 
are strewn with fragments of 
bright-colored egg-shells and 
bits of paper left for the White 
House gardeners to pick up, 
and many little indigestions 
have gone home and to bed 
in innocent joyousness and 
fatigue. — .--•-. 

One cannot help wondering 
what would occur if the same 
number of little London chil- 
dren decided to go and roll eggs in the grounds 
of Buckingham Palace. Would Her Most 
Gracious Majesty order out the Horse Guards? 
Perhaps not, as she has had nine little children 
of her own, whom she helped in their child- 
hood to be most delightfully happy little per- 
sons ; but I am afraid she would regard it as 
rather a liberty. 

When the dogwood has withdrawn its white 
blossoms into private life, as it were; when 
there are no more violets scrambling up and 
down the banks of Rock Creek; when the birds 
in the linden and tulip and maple trees in the 
avenues have begun active domestic duties, 
and have family circles in their nests, the City 
of Groves and Bowers begins to be warm, and 
also to be deserted. In the summer, if the 

weather was not so hot, Washington would be 
delightful. The leaves grow thicker and thicker 
upon the thousands of trees ; the fountains play 
in the parks ; everybody's windows are open, 
and through the streets are driven slowly carts 
of fruit and vegetables, whose appearance and 


fpP'- s 


disappearance record the progress of the sum- 
mer season. The carts are always driven by 
colored gentlemen, whose far-reaching sonorous 
voices proclaim their wares as the cart wanders 
along. Frequently a colored boy saunters near 
it on the pavement, shouting also. Sometimes 
the proprietor himself walks by the languid, 
sleepy old horse's head. But in any case, as 
the cavalcade strolls through a street, the in- 
habitants always hear what is going by. 

" Strawbe'ys ! Fine fresh strawbe'ys ! " is the 
cry in the early summer. " Strawbe'ys, twenty- 
fi' cents er box !" 

And then, as the days go on, and the fruit is 
more abundant, there is a decline in price until 
" strawbe'ys " may be bought at three boxes 
for " twenty-fi' cents." 




And later appear the loads of watermelons. 
A few years ago a certain vender of water- 
melons used to be a source of great delight to 
the two small boys who were the occupants 
of one particular nursery. He was a colored 
gentleman of the name of Johnson, and he had 
a voice to rend the firmament. 

" Watermillions — watermillions ! " he used to 
proclaim. "Joe Johnson's watermillions! 

"Red to the rine, an' the rine red too — 

Better buy a watermillion while they gwine thoo. " 

How was this to be resisted on a hot, hot 
sleepy day ? 

But at this time the majority of the inhabi- 
tants is at the seaside or in the mountains, and 
those who are detained in town find they 
have grave need of watermelons, and ice, and 

When, in the autumn, the houses which have 
been closed during the hot months begin to 
open their doors, and once more there are 
small faces at the nursery windows, another 
Spirit has passed through the groves and bow- 
ers and roamed through the country roads and 
woods, and over the dips and curves, and down 
to the water's edge at Rock Creek. It has 
touched every branch and leaf, every vine and 
woodland bramble, and even the small, humble 
things which creep about close to the ground 
in the wild places and among the rocks. It has 
painted the groves yellow and red and orange 
and golden brown ; to the vines climbing over 
walls and about windows and doors it has done 
wonderful things; the bowers are variegated, 
the flowers in the parks are deep and richly 
colored or flaming. The avenues and streets 
are gorgeous, and when, in walking between 
the brilliant trees one lifts one's face as one did 
in those mornings of earliest spring, one's eyes 

find a touch of deeper blue in the sky. It 
seems as if so much color, such tints of amber 
and crimson and orange, could surely never 
fade out, and that the City of Groves and Bow- 
ers must flame like this always. The small hu- 
man flowers who came with the leaf-buds in 
the spring, being rolled into Lafayette and 
Franklin squares again by their nurses, have 
grown enough to be of the world which is not 
always softly asleep or vaguely absorbed in 
bottles with milk in them. They lie in their 
pretty carriages and stare at the wonderful 
branches above them. Sometimes they make 
remarks on the subject of leaves which are 
quite scarlet. But the nurses and grown-up 
people think they are simply cooing or goo- 
ing, or doing something quite aimless, while 
really their observations may be most profound. 
But it is so often the case that great discoverers 
are not at first understood. 

These great discoverers, at least, have made 
the most of their City of Groves and Bowers. 
They have seen only the beautiful, the lova- 
ble, the adorable things in it. They have 
not explained to themselves the workings of 
the Capitol and the Treasury. They have only 
looked up at the blue above them and at the 
blossoming boughs and the flaming ones; they 
have smiled at the flowers and at the tender 
little breezes which kissed their soft cheeks in 
hurrying by. And though the flames of color 
will die down, the breezes will be less tender, 
and the boughs will drop their leaves and stand 
bare, yet there is one thing — just one beau- 
tiful, joyous thing — of which even older and 
less untried creatures can be quite, quite sure. 
Whatsoever of sadness, or clouds, or chill, or 
fading colors the passing year may hold, the 
Spring will always come again — the Spring 
will always come again ! 





By Hon. Henry Cabot Lodge, 

U. S. Senator from Massachusetts. 


Though cities are the work of men's hands, 
they usually are placed where nature dic- 
tates. As a rule their place in the world has 
been determined for them by a great river, a 
safe harbor, or a sheltered plain. But there 
are a few instances of cities which owe their 
being solely to the caprice of man. An arbi- 
trary will bade St. Petersburg rise by the Neva, 
and created a great capital on the sandy plains 
of the Spree. These cities were the work of 
despotic rulers, and yet, curiously enough, the 
capital of the American republic was likewise 
the creature of the will of man. When the 
framers of the Constitution of the United States 
were engaged in the great work of making a 
nation out of thirteen jarring States, one of the 
duties they imposed upon the Congress they 
then created was the establishment of a capi- 
tal city for the new government. This subject 
had been already much discussed under the 
Confederation, and to this duty, therefore, the 
new Congress gave immediate attention. It 
was a burning question, too, because local in- 
terests were deeply engaged in it, and thus the 
site of the future federal city assumed an im- 
portance to the States and the people in 1789 
which at this time it is difficult to realize. It 
was in reality a contest between North and 
South, and it is curious to observe how excited 
men became over the question whether the new 
city was to be placed in Pennsylvania or on the 
borders of Virginia. 

It would be tedious to trace in detail, with 

its amendments, the history of the bill which 
was to establish the capital. The North all 
along had a majority of votes, and after much 
struggling it began to seem certain that the 
national capital would go to Pennsylvania. 

But it so happened that at that very time 
another matter was pending in Congress upon 
which the division of opinion was equally sharp 
and men's feelings equally bitter. This second 
question was the bill providing for the payment 
by the United States of the debts incurred by the 
several States during the Revolution. The law 
proposed was one of the great series of financial 
measures by which Alexander Hamilton bound 
the States together, and converted the dry 
clauses of the constitution into living realities. 
This final measure, so important to the welfare 
of the country, was on the edge of decisive 
defeat by a narrow majority, and the votes 
against it were chiefly Southern votes. Hamilton 
believed, not without reason, that the continu- 
ance of the Government and the fate of the 
new constitution depended upon the success of 
this particular law, which was the crown of the 
series intended to restore our finances. He pro- 
posed, therefore, to Jefferson, who had not yet 
quarreled with him, that if Jefferson would get 
a few Southern votes for the paying by the 
government of the State debts, enough North- 
ern votes would be turned over in return to 
send the capital to the Potomac. 

This bargain was carried out. The bill for 
the payment of the State debts was passed, and 



the national capital was placed by the Potomac, 
on the borders of Maryland and Virginia. The 
country secured a law which was of immense im- 
portance, not only to its financial credit, but to 
the existence of the Union, while the South 
gained the site of the capital, which was really 
a matter of no lasting moment to any one. 

The act for the establishment of the city, 
which resulted from this arrangement, passed 
on July 10, 1790, and gave the President power 
to appoint three commissioners, who were to 
select a site, and take the necessary land be- 
tween the Potomac and what was known as its 
Eastern Branch, on the Maryland side, and an 

Major L'Enfant, a French officer who had 
served as one of our allies in the Revolution. 
So far as the work went, this choice was an 
excellent one, and L'Enfant produced an admir- 
able plan, on which the city has practically been 
laid out, and which to-day is a proved success. 
But, although L'Enfant could plan a city, he 
could not deal with other men. He was hot- 
tempered and impatient. He quarreled with 
the commissioners and with Mr. Carroll, one of 
the principal land-owners of the neighborhood, 
and in fact proved an extremely difficult person 
to get on with. At last he flatly refused to 
publish his plan, because, he said, speculators 


equal amount opposite on the Virginian side, 
the whole district thus taken to be ten miles 
square. So said, so done. The commissioners 
were appointed and the land taken. Washing- 
ton, who was in those early stages the control- 
ling mind in the whole affair, took the deepest 
interest in the selection of the site, and in all 
that pertained to the new city which was to bear 
his name and to be built so near his own home. 
After the land had been taken, the next step 
was to secure an engineer to lay out the new 
capital, and Washington's choice fell upon 

would take advantage of it. Thereupon Wash- 
ington dismissed him, and appointed Andrew 
Ellicott, who took up the work where L'Enfant 
dropped it, and very wisely followed as closely 
as he could the plan of the talented but irritable 

This, however, was the least part of the 
work — a mere preface to what remained to be 
done. It is comparatively easy to select engi- 
neers and to survey land, but the building of 
a city is a more difficult problem, and takes a 
good deal of time, as the proverb inculcating 




patience tells us in regard to Rome. The ter- 
ritory selected for the new capital when L'En- 
fant and Ellicott surveyed it was merely a stretch 
of rather poor farming land, with underlying 
clay and much surface gravel, which reached 
from Rock Creek on the west to the Eastern 
Branch on the east, and was bordered along 
the south by the Potomac. In all these many 
acres there were then only two or three scat- 

was the new city to be built. Congress had 
done nothing in the way of money ; but with 
the funds furnished by Virginia and Maryland, 
a little more raised from the sale of city lots, a 
little more still from lotteries, and finally, by the 
aid of a loan of one hundred thousand dollars 
from Maryland and Virginia, which was guar- 
anteed by the commissioners, the work on the 
public buildings was begun. On September 18 



tered farm-houses, with their negro quarters 
gathered about them. The house of John 
Burns, one of the principal farmers and land- 
owners, still stands at the foot of Seventeenth 
street, below the White House. It looks to- 
day, in its desolate old age, little better than a 
negro shanty, and is entirely overshadowed by 
the Van Ness house, built later by John Burns's 
son-in-law. The Van Ness house, too, is old 
now, but it is large and spacious-looking, and 
still has about it a certain air of stateliness. 
There, then, on rough fields, on this soil of 
clay and gravel broken by watercourses and 
showing a good deal of scattered woodland, 

the corner-stone of the Capitol was laid with 
some simple ceremonies, and work upon that 
and upon the President's house, about a mile to 
the westward, was started. The architect of 
the White House was James Hoban, an Irish- 
man, who also superintended the construction 
of the Capitol, which was built upon the plan 
of Stephen Hallet, a French architect. The 
new buildings were pushed as rapidly as pos- 
sible, for the law demanded that they should be 
ready for occupancy in 1800; and, accordingly, 
in October of that year the packet-sloop which 
bore the records, furniture, and some of the 
officials of the Government left Philadelphia 





and duly arrived at the capital. The Cabinet 
officers and chiefs of departments followed by 
land in their carriages, and established their 
offices in some little brick buildings built for 
that purpose in the neighborhood of the White 
House, while the one completed wing of the 
Capitol furnished a meeting-place for Congress, 
which soon after assembled. 

It was a rather dreary place in which to 
house and establish a government. A few half- 
finished buildings, dotted about in the fields, 
and a road little better than a cart-track over 
the heavy red clay, constituted at that moment 
the capital city; and the Government officers 
who were forced to come there looked back 

with regret to the comfortable quarters they 
had left in Philadelphia. We have, fortunately, 
some descriptions written at the time, which 
set the scene before us in a very vivid fash- 
ion. Oliver Wolcott, Secretary of the Treasury, 
wrote as follows to his wife on July 4, 1800: 

The City of Washington, or at least some part of it, 
is about forty miles from Baltimore. . . . The Capitol 
is situated on an eminence which I should suppose was 
near the centre of the immense country here called the 
city. It is a mile and a half from the President's House, 
and three miles on a straight line from Georgetown. 
There is one good tavern about forty rods from the 
Capitol, and several other houses are built and erecting; 
but I do not perceive how the members of Congress can 
possibly secure lodgings, unless they will consent to live 


5 m ft-.n,-* - 
3 .aej -f* &~A «1 





like scholars in a college, or monks in a monastery, 
crowded ten or twenty in one house, and utterly secluded 
from society. The only resource for such as wish to live 
comfortably will, I think, be found in Georgetown, three 
miles distant over as bad a road in winter as the clay 
grounds near Hartford. 

I have made every exertion to secure good lodgings 
near the office, but shall be compelled to take them at 
the distance of more than half a mile. There are in fact 
but few houses at any one place, and most of them small, 
miserable huts, which present an awful contrast to the 
public buildings. The people are poor, and, as far as I 
can judge, they live like fishes, by eating each other. 

of pity with others. It must be cold and damp in win- 
ter, and cannot be kept in tolerable order without a regi- 
ment of servants. 

Mrs. Adams, the wife of the President, a 
clever woman, a good observer, and a New 
England housekeeper as well, has also left us a 
description of the new city : 

I arrived here on Sunday last, and without meeting 
with any accident worth noticing except losing ourselves 
when we left Baltimore, and going eight or nine miles 


All the ground for several miles around the city, being in 
the opinion of the people too valuable to be cultivated, 
remains unfenced. There are but few inclosures, even 
for gardens, and those are in bad order. You may look 
in almost any direction over an extent of ground nearly 
as large as the city of New York, without seeing a fence 
or laborers. . . . Greenleaf's Point presents the appear- 
ance of a considerable town which had been destroyed 
by some unusual calamity. There are [there] fifty or 
sixty spacious houses, five or six of which are occupied 
by negroes and vagrants, and a few more by decent-look- 
ing people ; but there are no fences, gardens, nor the 
least appearance of business. This place is about a mile 
and a half south of the Capitol. 

Of the White House, which in those simpler 
days was called a palace, he says : 

It was built to be looked at by strangers, and will 
render its occupant an object of ridicule with some, and 

on the Frederick road, by which means we were obliged 
to go the other eight through the woods, where we wan- 
dered two hours without finding a guide or the path. 
Fortunately, a straggling black came up with us, and we 
engaged him as a guide to extricate us out of our diffi- 
culty ; but woods are all you see from Baltimore until 
you reach the city — which is so only in name. Here 
and there is a small cot, without a glass window, inter- 
spersed among the forests, through which you travel 
miles without seeing any human being. In the city there 
are buildings enough, if they were compact and finished, 
to accommodate Congress and those attached to it; but 
as they are, and scattered as they are, I see no great com- 
fort for them. If the twelve years in which this place 
has been considered as the future seat of Government 
had been improved as they would have been in New 
England, very many of the present inconveniences would 
have been removed. It is a beautiful spot, capable of 
any improvement, and the more I view it the more I am 
delighted with it. 



In plain truth, it must have been governing 
under difficulties to have lived in Washington 
in the first year of the century. The little vil- 
lage of Georgetown, on the further side of 
Rock Creek, at the head of tide-water and 
navigation, was really the only inhabited place 
within reach. There, or in buildings hastily 
erected for the purpose, alone could the Gov- 
ernment officers find shelter. Most of the 
congressmen dwelt at first in Georgetown, 
superior comfort making up for the greater 
distance from the Capitol. An entry in John 
Quincy Adams's diary tells us how he, while 
senator, waited for the House to adjourn until 
very late one night so that a friend might 
take him home in a carriage and save him 
from a wetting and from being mired in the 
red clay. This gives us a glimpse of the daily 
discomfort of having to go two miles over 
a country road from the Capitol to George- 
town, which must have been disagreeable 
enough in bad weather. Some of the mem- 
bers, from the very first, lived nearer the 
scenes of their duties, in the small boarding- 
houses and hotels which sprang up near the 
Capitol building, and which in reality, unim- 
portant as they then seemed, constituted the 
true beginnings of the city. 

The scheme of Washington and of the com- 
missioners was to have the city, or at least the 
best quarters of it, on the broad and level pla- 
teau which stretches westward from the Eastern 
Branch of the Potomac. Accordingly, upon 
the western end of this stretch of high and level 
ground was placed the Capitol, facing east and 
looking out over the place where the city was 
to be. At the back of the Capitol the land fell 
abruptly away to low ground, level with the river, 
and here ran the road now known as Pennsyl- 
vania Avenue, which connected the Capitol with 
the White House and with Georgetown. But the 
city would not grow as it was intended. Tradi- 
tion says that the high prices at which Daniel 
Carroll and others held their land on the east- 
ern side were the cause ; but whatever the rea- 
sons may have been, people descended into 
the low ground behind the Capitol, and the 
city grew steadily westward. 

One curious result of this overturning of 
the founders' design can be traced even now 
Vol. XX.— 37. 


in the names of the avenues. It was a South- 
ern capital, and the South led in all that 
concerned its early upbuilding. Accordingly, 
the names of Southern States were given 
to the avenues on the eastern plateau and 
along the river-front, while New York and the 


New England States were pushed off into the 
rough fields and woods at the extreme west 
and to the north of the White House. But 
the city, following the law of its own being, 
paid little heed to the wishes of those who 
named its avenues or who bought up the best 
lots on the eastern plateau. Like the star of 
empire, it traveled westward, and to-day the 
great business streets bear the names of 
Pennsylvania and New York, while the five 




New England States are represented by the 
avenues which run through the residence quar- 
ter of the city where the best houses and the 
finest private buildings are gathered. 

The growth, however, which thus began in 
the rear of the Capitol, and along the road to 
the White House, was at best straggling and 
feeble, and it resulted in houses for the most 
part small and irregularly built. The mate- 
rial advance of Washington in the early days 
of the century, in fact, was not brilliant; and, 
what was still worse, a little more than a dozen 
years after the coming there of the Government 
the town received a severe check, for at that 
time it fell into the hands of a foreign enemy. 
After the rout which is called by courtesy the 
battle of Bladensburg, the British troops en- 
tered Washington, set fire to the Capitol, and 
burned and sacked the departments. The bat- 
tle was discreditable to the Americans, and the 
wanton destruction of the public buildings was 
even more discreditable to the British. After 
the war was over, a patriotic congressman pro- 
posed that the ruins of the Capitol should be 
railed in and left standing so that they might 
be preserved as a monument of British van- 
dalism. It was decided, however, to rebuild; 
and, as the old walls were so much damaged by 
fire that their appearance was spoiled, they 
were painted white, which makes them to this 
day a very serious blemish in a noble and 
beautiful building. 

After the peace of Ghent, the city resumed 
the slow process of growth which had been 
so violently and unpleasantly interrupted. The 
small buildings, in the form of houses or shops 
needed by the inhabitants who were at- 
tracted thither by the Government business, 
gradually increased, while the growth of the 
Government itself slowly added to the number 
of public buildings. During the next forty 
years the Treasury Department, the Patent 
Office building (now known as the Department 
of the Interior), and the Post Office Department 
were all built, and the foundations of the two 
fine wings of the Capitol were laid. These 
buildings were all large and beautiful, and were 
also appropriate to their purposes. With their 
lofty porticos and marble columns they pre- 
sented a curious contrast to the straggling town 

which had grown up about them ; for the Wash- 
ington of the days before the Civil War was 
little more than an overgrown Southern village. 
With very few exceptions, the streets were un- 
paved, deep with mud, almost impassable, in 
winter and spring, and equally dusty in sum- 
mer. Cattle and swine went at large, and M. 
de Bacourt, the French minister in 1840, speaks 
with much annoyance of women milking cows 
on the edge of what passed for a sidewalk. It 
was at that time certainly neither an imposing 
nor an attractive capital city, and its most strik- 
ing feature was the contrast between the ill- 
built scattered town and the really stately public 
buildings towering up in the midst of it. 

It was upon a city built after this fashion that 
the storm of rebellion broke in 1861. To tell 
the history of Washington during the four years 
that followed would be to write the story of the 
Civil War; for, however unimportant Washington 
may have been considered simply as a city, it 
was nevertheless the capital of a great nation, 
and the contending armies fought to possess it. 
When the war was over, it was found that it had 
left its scars upon Washington, as on so many 
other places. The city had been girdled by a 
chain of forts and earthworks, which had laid 
low the woods in many places on both sides of 
the river. Armies had encamped about it, and 
its buildings had been used for hospitals and 
storehouses, while in the outlying quarters mule 
corrals and cavalry depots had been established. 
The streets had been torn and furrowed by 
the passage of countless trains of artillery, bag- 
gage-wagons, and ambulances. In the tumult 
of the time, the city had been forgotten, although 
in the midst of it ail Congress had still remem- 
bered to continue the building of the wings 
of the Capitol, as a sure sign to friend and foe 
that the Government, at least, had no doubt as 
to its future. 

After the war was over, however, public at- 
tention was again drawn to the capital of the 
country, and there was more or less discussion 
as to its removal to the West, so that it might be 
nearer the center of population. It was at this 
period, while General Grant was President, that 
a movement was made and carried into effect 
for the development and improvement of the 
city. This was done under the leadership of 

.8 93 .J 


Alexander R. Shepherd, who became Governor 
of the Territory into which the District was 
then, and (as it proved) only for a time, con- 
verted. New streets and avenues were laid out, 
the old ones were extended, and all were paved 


with asphalt and brought to an easy grade 
throughout the city, while squares and parks 
were made and planted at the points of inter- 
section of the great avenues. The old canal 
was filled or covered up, the Tiber River was 
turned to the Eastern Branch, and the water 
and gas systems of the city were reorganized 
and improved. The work was a very large and 
very expensive one. A great deal of money 
was spent, and there was much criticism and 
some scandal in regard to it. It is not worth 
while here to inquire into the truth or falsehood 
of these scandals, or whether there was much 
or little extravagance. One thing is certain, the 
work was done, and done thoroughly. From 
being a straggling, overgrown village, Wash- 
ington was changed into a handsome city, with 
broad, well paved avenues and streets, well 
lighted and well drained, and all talk about the 
removal of the capital died away. The im- 
provements of Shepherd were not only the sal- 
vation of the city, but they fixed it finally in the 


place originally chosen by its founders. The 
changes which had been made brought with 
them also improvements in the construction of 
private houses, and drew population to the city. 
The national government, too, having abol- 
ished the old city government, took charge of 
the city itself, and added largely to the pub- 
lic buildings. Congress completed the Wash- 
ington monument, and extended from it to the 
White House on the north and to the Capitol 
toward the east a system of parks, which in- 
cluded the grounds of the Smithsonian Institu- 
tion and of the Botanical Gardens. 

Thus, from being an ill-built, ill-paved town, 
striking only from the painful contrast be- 
tween the great public buildings and their 
surroundings, Washington has been changed 
into a singularly attractive city, with a peculiar 
character of its own, and giving great promise 
for the future. It is a government city, and no- 
thing else. It has practically no manufac- 
tures and no commerce, and its population is 
made up of persons engaged in the govern- 
ment service, and of those who supply their 
wants, together with a constantly increasing class 
of people who come to dwell there because it is 
a pleasant place in which to live. The result 
is that the business quarters of Washington are 
comparatively small and the residence quarters 
large, while both are constantly growing and im- 
proving. The city has followed in its expansion 
the plan of L'Enfant, the French engineer, 
and thus has a character all its own, producing 
by its system of avenues a grateful irregularity 
of design, and many open spaces which, like 
the streets, are planted with trees and shrubs. 

The march of improvement quickened by the 
growth of the city has not stopped within the 
city limits. The immediate neighborhood of 
Washington, although not desirable from the 
farmer's point of view, has a great deal of 
natural beauty, a fact which was first remarked 
by Mr. Merry, the British minister to the United 
States, in Jefferson's time. The valley of the 
Potomac, especially above Georgetown, is very 
beautiful, rising abruptly into low hills broken 
by the ravines or watercourses which come 
down to the great river on all sides. A large 
branch, known as Rock Creek, runs from a 
point north of the city down to the Potomac, 

5 8o 


dividing Washington from Georgetown. This 
stream, miscalled a " creek," forces its way 
through the ledges and hills until it reaches the 
river, and its narrow valley is as wild and beau- 
tiful as if it were hidden in some distant moun- 
tains. The Fiftieth Congress took a hundred 
and forty acres of this valley on the borders of 
the city for a zoological park, and the Fifty- 
first, with great good sense, continued the work 
by taking two thousand acres more, extending 
to the head of the stream, for a public park. 
Thus this beautiful region, with its rocks and 
woods and ravines, has been preserved from 
the destroying hand of the land speculator. It 
is not too much to say that it will make a park 
of greater natural beauty than is to be found in 
the neighborhood of any great city in the world. 

It is an excellent thing that the original idea 
of the founders has thus been carried out, and 
that we have for our capital a city which is a 
government city and nothing else. It is far 
better that the government of a great country 
should have a city to itself, and not be lost in 
the turmoil of some vast metropolis where its 
presence is of little importance, and where it 
would be subject to local influences which might 
readily in a country like ours be most unfortu- 
nate for our general welfare. There was a 
time when a wide-spread feeling existed that the 
capital was not worthy of a country like the 
United States, but that day has long since passed. 
In its development Washington has become or 
is becoming in all material ways everything that 
the capital of the United States should be, and 
yet it has not lost and never will lose its pe- 
culiar and important character as the home 
of the Government. 

There is, however, something more to all this 
than the merely material side. In a country 
like ours it is especially desirable to preserve all 
historic and patriotic associations. If, after the 
war, the capital had been removed, all these 
associations which have gathered about Wash- 
ington would have been lost, and we should 
have begun over again with an entirely new 
city to which no interest attached beyond the 
fact that it was one day to be the capital of 

the country. About the home of the National 
Government memories are sure to cluster, and 
in a century — a long time in a new country — 
these memories have gathered fast. If the 
history of all the events that have taken place 
in Washington since 1800 were to be writ- 
ten, we should have a fairly complete story 
of the United States. With the public build- 
ings of Washington are associated the lives and 
deeds of all the great public men of the country, 
and within her limits the events have occurred 
and the decisions have been taken which have 
settled the fate of the Union. It is well to have 
such a city, and it is still better to preserve and 
develop it. It is well to have one place where 
people may come from all parts of our broad 
land, where they must forget all local inter- 
ests and remember only that they are citizens 
of the United States. In such a place not only 
can they find much that is of interest and in- 
struction, but they are in the midst of memories 
and associations which tell them at every step 
that they are citizens of a great nation with a 
great past. It is well that our children should 
come to the city through whose streets have 
passed in their day Adams and Jefferson, Madi- 
son and Marshall; to the city whose Capitol has 
heard the voices of Clay and John Quincy 
Adams, of Webster and Sumner; to the city 
where Lincoln wrought and suffered and died, 
and where the armies of Grant and Sherman 
marched in triumph. It is the city that Wash- 
ington founded; it bears his name and is a 
part of his history. From the obelisk reared in 
his honor, a noble shaft glittering in the sun- 
light, or standing pure and clear against the 
clouds, we can look far away down the broad 
river to the place where he sleeps, at his much- 
loved Mount Vernon. All this is sentiment, no 
doubt; but, after all, it is true sentiment which 
ennobles nations and makes a people capable 
of great deeds. It is well to have a capital city 
not only beautiful and prosperous, but belong- 
ing to no county and to no State, one that 
is the heritage of all the people, and that tells 
no story but that of national life and national 

a glad vacation 

Set to a song of 
Ho for a rhyme of 
the happy time 
That comes to the girl and boy ! 

To the tide- washed shore we find our way; 
We run on the beach and plunge in the 

Or over the craggy rocks we roam, 
And watch the waves as they break in 

Till the ebbing ocean reveals the home 

Where the tiny barnacle dwells, 
Where the starfish lie on the dripping sands 

And where, as if waiting for eager hands, 
Are curious, fluted shells. 

We spin along on our flying wheels 
With a thrill that the soaring swallow feels, 
And under the shining moon we make 
A glittering path on the silvery lake 
With our dipping oars, as we merrily take 

A row in our little boat. 
Oh ! the song of these beautiful summer days 
Should ripple with laughter like roundelays 

Trilled from a bobolink's throat. 

Then, ho! for a glad vacation rhyme, 

Set to a song of joy ! 
Ho for a rhyme of the happy time 

That comes to the girl and boy ! 

5 8i 


By Mrs. C. V. Jamison. 

A nthor of "Lady Jane." 

{Begun in the May number.} 

Chapter V. 


The painter from the north who was " rich, 
rich ! " as Seline said, had often stopped at her 
stand to buy a handful of pecans or a few of 
her crisp pralines, and as often as he came, he 
studied with the eye of an artist the two chil- 
dren who were always there; and many a dime 
found its way into Philip's pocket in return for 
a sprig of sweet olive and a few violets. 

It was true that he was a painter; his name 
was Edward Ainsworth, and he was an artist 
of some note in New York ; but as to his being 
" rich, rich ! " Seline had only guessed it : first, 
because he was a stranger, and secondly, be- 
cause he bought flowers nearly every day, and 
no one but a rich man would buy flowers. 

On this day, Seline, full of anxious expecta- 
tion, saw him approaching, and at first she 
thought he was about to pass — but no, he 
stopped suddenly, and swinging around, leaned 
over the table and buried his face in Philip's 
trav of odorous flowers. 

" How fragrant, how delicious ! " he said to 
himself in a low voice. 

Then he selected a sprig of sweet olive, and 
a handful of violets, all the while looking from 
Philip to Dea, who stood with their large 
questioning eyes fixed on him. 

In the mean time, Seline had put on her 
most genial smile, and when the customer laid 
down a dime for some pecans, she said in her 
smooth, rich voice : 

"They 're fresh, right fresh, M'sieur; an' 
won't yer have a praline for lagniappe ? " 

" Certainly ; thank you," replied the artist, 
still looking at the children, while he twisted 
the top of the little paper bag that contained 
his purchases. 

" If yer please, M'sieur, I 'd like to show yer 
dis yere little image " ; and Seline gently intro- 
duced Quasimodo, while Dea turned paler, and 
Philip's eyes were full of anxiety. It was a 
moment of intense interest. 

The artist's face brightened ; he laid down 
the flowers and the paper bag, and taking the 
little figure almost reverently, he turned and 
examined it critically. " Who made this ? " he 
asked, looking from one to the other. 

" My papa," said Dea, finding her courage 
and her voice at the same time. 

" Your papa ! Well, he is a genius. It is 
perfectly modeled. What is your papa's name, 
and where does he live ? " 

Dea dropped her head and made no reply. 
The artist looked inquiringly at Seline. 

" Her pauv' papa is al'ays sick," said the 
woman, touching her forehead significantly ; 
" he does n't like to see no one. She," with a 
glance at Dea, " won't never tell strangers 
where she lives." 

" Oh, I see ! " murmured the artist. " Well, 
my child," turning to the little girl and speak- 
ing very gently, " can you tell me what character 
this figure represents?" 

" It is Quasimodo." 

" Of course. It 's perfect, perfect; but what a 
strange subject ! " and again he turned it and 
examined it still more closely. 

" Do you want to sell it ? " he asked at length. 

" Oh, yes, M'sieur," cried Dea eagerly. " If 
you only will buy it, fauv' papa will be so glad ; 
he told me that I must sell it to-day." 

" How much do you ask for it ? " 

" Papa said I could sell it for five dollars. Is 
five dollars too much?" faltered Dea. "He 
said it was a work of art, but if you think that 
is too much — " 

" It is a work of art," interrupted the painter, 
as, with an absent-minded air, he introduced 




his thumb and finger into his waistcoat pocket 
and drew out a crisp note. 

Dea's eyes sparkled, and then grew dim with 

" But tell me, if you can, how long it took 
your father to model this?" he asked, still hold- 
ing the note. 

"Oh, a long time, M'sieur; I can't tell just 
how long, because he works at night when I 'm 

" Ah ! he works at night. And do you sell 
many ? " 

" No, M'sieur, I have not sold one for a long 

" She has n't sold one since Mardi Gras," 
interposed Philip, with an air of great interest. 
" A stranger bought one then, but he gave only 
three dollars for it." 

" Are you brother and sister ? " asked the 
artist, smiling down at Philip. 

" Oh, no, M'sieur, we 're not related," replied 
the boy; "she 's just my friend. She 's a girl, 
so I try to take care of her and help her all 
I can" ; and as the boy spoke he raised his eyes, 
and there was such a sweet light in their blue 
depths that the man's heart was touched with a 
very tender memory. " How much he is like 
him," he thought. " The same look, the same 
smile, and about the same age. I wonder if 
Laura would notice it. I wish she could see 
him." For a moment he forgot where he was. 
A far-off memory of his childhood mingled with 
a recent sorrow. A boy in bare legs wading 
for pond-lilies, a boy standing by his side 
watching each stroke of his brush with lov- 
ing eyes, and the boy before him all seemed 
one and the same. A strong emotion swept 
everything from his mind, and he could only 
stand silent with his eyes fixed on Philip's elo- 
quent face. At length he started like one from 
a dream, and when he spoke his voice had a 
new note of tenderness in it. 

" What a good boy you are ! She 's a fortu- 
nate little girl to have such a friend. Tell me 
your name, please; I wish to get better ac- 
quainted with you." 

The boy flushed with pleasure, and replied 
promptly, " My name is Philip, M'sieur." 

"Philip!" echoed the artist; "how strange. 
What is your other name ? " 

" Oh, I 'm always called Toinette's Philip. 
I never thought of any other name. I '11 ask 
my mammy to-night if I 've got another." 

" Is Toinette your mother ? " 

" No, M'sieur, she 's my mammy. She 's a 
yellow, woman, and you see I 'm white." 

" Have you always lived with Toinette ? " 

" Always, ever since I can remember." 

" Then you have no parents? " 

" Parents ? Oh, no ; I guess not. I don't 
know; I '11 ask mammy." 

" Where do you live ? " 

" I live on Ursuline street, away down-town. 
Mammy has a garden and sells flowers. It 's a 
right pretty garden ; won't you come some day 
and see it ? Mammy 's proud of her garden, 
and likes strangers to see it." 

" Thank you ; certainly I will come," replied 
the artist, promptly. " I like flowers myself, 
and I like pictures. I wonder if you like 
them — I mean pictures. I suppose you have 
not seen many." 

" Lots of them, and I like them, too. I 've 
seen them in the churches, and in the shop 
windows, and — I 've tried to make some," 
added Philip, lowering his voice and flushing 
a little. 

" Well, my boy, I 'm a painter; I paint pic- 
tures. Would you like to come and see mine?" 

" Yes, M'sieur, I would, if mammy says I 
may. I '11 ask her, and if she '11 let me, I '11 
come to-morrow." 

" I wish you could bring your little friend 
with you. I should like to paint a picture of 
her." And the artist turned his eyes to the 
anxious face of the little girl, who was looking 
eagerly at the note that was fluttering in his 

" Will you go with me, Dea ? " asked Philip. 

" I can't ; I must sell Esmeralda," returned 
the child curtly. 

The artist looked smilingly from one to the 
other. " So you have a figure of Esmeralda, 
and your name is Dea. Where is ' Homo,' the 

" Homo is under the table asleep ; but he 's 
not a wolf, he 's only a wolf-dog." 

At this moment, hearing his name used so 
freely, Homo came slowly out and sniffed at 
the stranger, who patted his head kindly ; then 



the old dog, with a wag of approbation, returned 
to his nap beside Lilybel. 

" Really," thought the artist, with a puzzled 
look, " it is very interesting ; this child and the 
dog seem to have stepped out of one of Victor 
Hugo's books." 

Here Seline made an expressive pantomime 
behind Dea, which led the artist to suspect that 
the modeler in wax was an enthusiast on the 
subject of the great French writer; and without 
further explanation, he understood the situation 
pretty correctly. A poor sick genius — sick 
mentally and physically — with this one child 
who was his only companion and friend. 

After a moment of deliberation he said gently, 
" My child, if you will come to my studio I 
will pay you for your time, and I will buy some 
more of your little figures. I won't keep you 
long, and it will be better than staying in the 
street all day." 

" Yes, honey, so it will," interposed Seline. 
" Does yer un'stand ? M'sieur '11 pay yer, and 
yer '11 have plenty money fer yer pauv' papa." 

Dea hesitated, and then replied doubtfully, 
" I 'm afraid papa won't be willing ; I '11 ask 
him. But I must go home now — I must — I 
must go to papa." 

" Dea can't promise now," said Philip, excus- 
ingly ; " but perhaps she '11 come to-morrow. 
I '11 try and bring her, M'sieur." 

" Thank you. I live in that tall house just 
below here. Ask the cobbler in the court to 
show you the way to Mr. Ainsworth's apart- 
ment." And as the artist gave Philip these 
directions, he handed the five-dollar note to 
Dea, who took it with an eloquent glance of 

" Oh, M'sieur, I 'm so glad ! Yes, I '11 try to 
come ; when pauv' papa knows how good you 
are, perhaps he '11 let me come. And may I 
bring Esmeralda ? Will you buy Esmeralda? " 

" Yes, I '11 buy Esmeralda," returned the 
artist, with a smile. " You '11 find me a good 
customer if you '11 bring your figures to my 

" I '11 come; I '11 come to-morrow," she cried 
eagerly. " Now, Seline, give me my basket. 
I must run all the way to papa." 

" Don't, honey ; don't get so flustered," said 
Seline, soothingly, as she handed her the basket, 


" an' don't run ; it '11 make yer little head ache, 
an' then yer can't get yer papa's dinner." 

" I must — I must run, Seline," cried Dea. 
"An revoir, M'sieur; an revoir, Philip." And 
with a happy smile, she darted out of the por- 
tico and clown Rue Royale, followed by Homo, 
who seemed aware of his little mistress's good 
fortune, for he was as alert and lively now as 
he was listless and discouraged before. 

" Oh, M'sieur, you 've done a good deed, 
buyin' dat little image," said Seline gratefully, 
as she looked after Dea. " Pore child, she 's 
so glad ! She can't wait, 'cause her papa ain't 
had no breakfast." 

" Nor no supper last night," continued Philip. 
" Dea don't like to tell, but I always know 
when they have nothing to eat." 

"What! Is it possible, nothing to eat? Are 
they as poor as that ? " exclaimed the artist. 
"And have they no one to take care of them?" 

" They have n't any one," returned Philip. 
" They came here from France when Dea was 
a baby, and her father 's been strange and sick 
ever since her mother died." 

" An' that pore chile has to take care of 
him," sighed Seline. " Oh, M'sieur, do buy 
somethin' more fer the sake of that motherless 
little cre'tur ! " 

" I will, I certainly will ; I '11 try and do 
something for them," replied the painter kindly. 
" I '11 sell some to my friends. Bring the child 
to me and I '11 see what I can do." Then with 
a pleasant "Good day," he walked off, carrying 
Quasimodo very carefully. 

Philip watched him with admiring eyes until 
his tall figure disappeared in the court of the 
high house on the next square ; then he turned 
to Seline and said earnestly, " I did n't think 
any one who painted pictures would stop to 
talk to us. Why, I ain't a bit afraid of him. 
You can bet I 'm going to see him, and I 'm 
going to get him to teach me to paint pictures." 

" An' he 's rich ; he '11 buy lots of them little 
images," returned Seline with undisguised sat- 

Chapter VI. 


Many years ago, when handsome residences 
were not numerous in the French quarter of 




New Orleans, the Creoles of Ursuline street 
were very proud of the Detrava place. It was 
a large white mansion with fluted columns and 
wide shady galleries, set well back from the 
street and surrounded by a broad lawn and 
lovely rose-garden, which were hidden from 
inquisitive neighbors by a high brick wall 
covered with pink stucco. On each side of 
the wide gate of beautifully wrought iron were 
massive pillars, supporting couchant lions, who 
held beneath their iron paws two rusty cannon- 
balls brought from the victorious field of Chal- 
mette by the General Detrava who built the 
imposing mansion, and retired there after the 
battle of New Orleans. 

For many years the Detrava place was the 
scene of the most generous hospitality, and 
many an aged lady can count her debut at a 
Detrava ball as one of the most brilliant events 
of her life. Children and grandchildren suc- 
ceeded the General — until at last one by one 
they dropped away, and all were gone but 
Charles Detrava, a wealthy sugar-planter, who 
preferred to live in the country on his fine plan- 
tation. For years the old mansion was closed 
and deserted ; but at last, one winter, it was 
thrown open for a brilliant occasion, the debut 
of the only child, the charming Estelle Detrava, 
who had just been graduated at the Dominican 
Convent. That fete will always be remembered 
by those who were fortunate enough to be 
present. It was the winter before the begin- 
ning of the Civil War, and it was almost the last 
brilliant social event that preceded years of 
sorrow and disaster. 

Among the first to join the Confederate army 
was Charles Detrava ; he went away with his 
regiment, never to return, leaving his wife and 
daughter in the seclusion of their country 
home. Shortly after her husband's departure, 
Mrs. Detrava died, and Estelle was left with- 
out a relative, excepting some cousins in France 
whom she had never seen. Then there came 
a rumor of her marriage, but to whom she 
was married no one seemed to know. So little 
was she thought of in the face of graver events, 
that, some time after, when one night the resi- 
dents of Ursuline street were awakened by the 
the uproar of a great conflagration, and the old 
Detrava mansion disappeared in smoke and 

* " For sale 

flames, they were appalled and astonished to 
learn that a young mother with her babe and 
nurse had perished in the house. No one knew 
that the house had been occupied, or that Estelle 
Detrava, who had lost her husband in a re- 
cent skirmish near her country home, had fled 
from the scene of the conflict to the refuge of 
the deserted city mansion. She had arrived 
the day before with her child and servant, and 
only one or two tradespeople were aware of 
her being there until the sad news was reported 
that of the three sleeping in the house that 
night not one escaped. 

By this sudden and terrible calamity, the 
family was, as it were, destroyed, as well as the 
beautiful old mansion of which there only 
remained some broken columns and tottering 
chimneys standing among piles of debris. But 
very soon that generous artist, Nature, decorated 
and beautified the ruins by covering them with 
a luxuriant growth of flowers and vines, and 
the curious who stopped to peer through the 
iron gates saw only a profusion of green cover- 
ing the fluted columns and the winding shell 

In the spring the pittosporum trees, which 
before had been kept carefully trimmed, thrust 
their white blossoming branches above the walls, 
and the riotous vines climbed over the gate, 
and almost hid the white board on which was 
painted in black letters: "A vendre on a louer."* 
Day after day the sign hung there, in sun and 
rain, but no tenant came to occupy the little 
cottage in the rear, which had escaped the con- 
flagration ; neither did a purchaser appear to 
bargain for the property that had passed to 
the heirs, the unknown cousins in France. 

Time passed on, and each season the place 
looked more neglected and deserted. The 
beautiful lawn and rose-garden were overrun 
with weeds, the flowering shrubs grew into 
trees, the climbing roses and jasmines pushed 
their branches upward and clung to every pos- 
sible support, dense shadows brooded among 
the foliage where numerous birds built their 
nests and bred their young. The old garden 
was still lovely, but a cloud hung over it, — the 
memory of the tragedy of that terrible night. 
And after a while foolish rumors filled the 
neighborhood, and people began to eye the 
or to let." 

5 86 



rusty gate and grim lions as though they Detrava place. She was a small, gentle-looking 

inclosed and guarded a gloomy secret, until it woman, dressed in rusty black, with a white 

seemed as if no one could be found who would iignon* tied neatly over her gray hair; and the 

brave the loneliness and seclusion of the place child, though plainly clad, was as clean and 

MM / AL ; If I , #4fe^ A '' ' ' 

1 <// (/ "/ 


and take possession of the comfortable little cot- fresh as a lily. For a long time the woman 

tage that had served as servants' quarters in the lingered with her face pressed against the iron 

prosperous days of the old mansion. scroll-work of the gate, and when, after some 

At last one day the neighbors noticed a time, she walked sadly away, there were traces 

respectable-looking old quadroon, leading a of tears on her cheeks. 

lovely little white child by the hand, pass slowly A few mornings after that, the druggist oppo- 

up the street and stop before the gate of the site noticed a slender column of smoke rising 

* Head-dress. 




from the chimney of the little cottage, and he 
knew that at last the Detrava place had found 
an occupant. The old sign disappeared, and 
after a while in its place hung another on which 
was neatly painted, " Floral designs for funerals 
and weddings, and cut flowers for sale at 
very low prices." 

It was some time before the curiosity of the 
neighbors was gratified in regard to the new 
tenant, and when at last they learned that it 
was the little quadroon woman who had been 
seen looking in the gate, they were greatly 
surprised and disappointed. In spite of every 
effort, the most they could learn was that her 
name was Toinette, that she was a skilful florist, 
and that she was nurse and guardian to the 
little white boy she called Philip. She was 
very seldom seen, as she passed in and out of 
the gate in the rear ; and of the child they had 
onlv occasional glimpses. Those were at the 
times when he ran, like some lovely little sylvan 
creature, down the shaded walk between the 
great oaks and magnolias, to press his round 
pink face against the iron gate, where he would 
stand and look out into the narrow, dusty street 
his blue eyes wide and bright with pleased sur- 
prise. The little Creoles on the other side of 
the gate tried by every means in their power 
to overcome his shyness, but in vain ; at the 
first approach, he would scurry away and con- 
ceal himself behind a clump of bushes or a 
tangle of vines until his would-be friends had 

He was a healthy, happy child ; he loved 
flowers and birds, all dumb things came to him 
with the utmost confidence ; he was always 
surrounded by his pets, and they seemed to 
have a sort of secret understanding with him. 
Toinette sometimes thought they even had a 
language in common. For when he whistled 
softly, the cardinals and mocking-birds flew 
down to eat out of his hand. He would flit 
about among the flowers, and butterflies and 
other winged insects hovered over him. Very 
early he showed a taste for drawing birds 
and animals, and Toinette encouraged it. She 
bought him paper and a small box of colors, 
and when Pere Josef, the kind little priest who 
lived in a tiny cottage near, told Toinette that 
the child had talent and would make a painter 

some day, she was delighted. As soon as he 
was old enough to learn his letters, she engaged 
Pere Josef to teach him ; and every morning, 
summer and winter, at six o'clock, the rosy 
little fellow finished his hominy and milk, and 
ran to Pere Josef, who was always sitting over 
his coffee and books at that hour. 

Philip loved Pere Josef, but he adored Toi- 
nette. There was nothing in her power that 
she would not undertake for the child, and he 
repaid her with ready obedience and unstinted 
affection. As he grew older, he assisted her in 
many ways : he weeded her flower-beds, trans- 
planted her violets, gathered up dead leaves, 
and dug the grass out of the cracks of the brick 
paving with the most patient industry. There- 
fore, when one day Toinette told him he could 
go on the street and sell a few flowers, he was 
overjoyed. He was about six years old then, 
and he had lost much of the shyness of his 
infancy, but about him there was always 
enough of the air of a little woodland crea- 
ture to make him natural and charming; and 
this perhaps led him to seek the protection 
of Seline when he found himself alone in the 
crowded streets. He usually sold his flowers in 
the morning to gentlemen on the way to their 
offices, and he had many regular customers who 
dropped the dime into his hand as much for the 
charm of his sunny smile and pleasant " good 
morning" as for the love of the flowers. When 
his tray was empty he did not linger nor idle 
away his time, but ran off to Toinette, as happy 
as a lark, to assist her in cultivating her beds 
of pansies and violets. 

Philip had told his mammy of his acquain- 
tance with Dea, and the kind old woman, 
although she had never seen the little girl, felt 
a great interest in her, and always managed to 
supply the boy with food enough for two, so 
that his little friend need never go hungry. 
And every day when the boy came home, her 
question was not whether he had sold his 
flowers, but whether Dea had sold any of her 
little figures. 

Chapter VII. 


On the day when the artist bought Quasi- 
modo, Philip could hardly wait, so eager was he 



to tell Toinette of Dea's good fortune. So, 
when all his flowers were sold, he fairly flew 
down Ursuline street, never stopping for any 
of the tempting invitations to join in the numer- 
ous games the children were playing on the 
sidewalk ; for Toinette's Philip was a great 
favorite among them, and they were always glad 
when he appeared. 

At the corner of Treme street he saw r a 
group of boys around a small crippled negro 
who carried a heavy bucket on his head. 
" There are the brick-dust children going home, 
and those boys are tormenting little Bill again ! " 
he cried, with a flash of anger in his blue eyes. 
"Just let me catch up with them, and I '11 
scatter them ! " A moment after he was in the 
midst of the crowd, striking out to the right and 
left. " Look here, you boys, leave that lame 
child alone! Are n't you ashamed to torment 
him ? Here, Bill, give me your bucket; you can 
carry my tray "; and swinging the heavy pail of 
brick-dust upon his head, he marched off as 
straight as a caryatid, followed by the " brick- 
dust children," who gave three cheers for Toi- 
nette's Philip. 

When Philip reached the gate of the Detrava 
place, he was rosy and breathless from his 
exertion, and his eyes were sparkling with ex- 
citement. Toinette was sitting on the little 
gallery beside a table covered with white flowers. 
She was filling the wire design of a lamb with 
small waxen jasmine blossoms. 

" Who 's that for, Mammy ? " asked Philip, 
leaning against a pillar of the piazza while he 
rested and recovered his breath. 

"It's for a little baby on Prieur street; it 
died last evening. But what makes you so 
warm, child?" asked Toinette gently; "have n't 
I told you not to run so much ? " 

" I could n't help it ; I was in such a hurry 
to get home. I wanted to tell you that Dea 
has sold Quasimodo ! " Then Philip rapidly and 
breathlessly, partly in English and partly in 
French, told Toinette of the adventures of the 
day. " And oh, Mammy, he paints pictures 
right there where he lives, and he wants me to 
come some time to see him ! Can I go to- 
morrow ? " 

" Why, yes, child," replied Toinette, without 
looking up from her work, " you can go ; and if 


he '11 teach you anything, I shall be glad to 
have you learn." 

" He will teach me ; I know he will. He 's 
very kind, and he promised to buy Esmeralda," 
said Philip confidently. 

" I 'm glad for the poor child," said Toinette, 
busily building up the lamb's ears. 

" Can't I have my supper now, Mammy ? 
I 'm awful hungry. Did you make the 

" Yes, cher; it 's all ready. Just wait a min- 
ute. I must finish this ; the woman 's coming 
for it. I have only the eyes to put in." And 
as Toinette spoke she selected the dark leaf of 
a pansy, and dexterously inserted it into the 
empty socket. " There, is n't it natural ? " she 
said, holding it oft' and looking at it admiringly. 
" It 's so white and innocent." 

" I don't know," said Philip, regarding it 
critically with his head on one side. " I think 
I 'd like the flowers best just as they grew." 

At that moment the bell rang, and Philip ran 
to open the gate. The servant had come with 
a basket for the lamb. 

" Madame will like this," she said as she wiped 
a tear from her glossy black face ; " she does n't 
know about it. M'sieur ordered it." 

Toinette enveloped the lamb in white oiled 
paper, and laid it carefully in the basket; she 
did everything daintily, with a gentle, refined 
touch, but she looked old and feeble. 

" Now, child," she said, as the woman went 
away, walking slowly and glancing often at the 
basket as if it contained a living thing, "just 
run and fasten the gate, and I '11 set the table 
for your supper." 

Toinette brushed from the little table the 
fragrant remnants of the flowers, and spread a 
white cloth over it. Then she went into the 
spotless kitchen, which served well for their sim- 
ple needs, and brought out a bowl of steaming 
gumbo, a dish piled with snowy rice, a plate 
of biscuit, and a glass pitcher of milk. While 
she was making these preparations, Philip went 
to his little bedroom, which opened out of this 
one living-room ; and as he passed through the 
kitchen, he glanced at everything with a loving 
eye. How clean and cheerful it looked ! The 
walls were nearly covered with bright wire 
designs for making floral ornaments. These em- 




blems of the extremes of joy and sorrow jostled the white walls, the red brick floor, and the 

each other intimately. There were bells and plain dark furniture. Outside, everything was 

harps, crowns and stars, pillows and horse- green and cool, and this bit of light and color 

shoes, " gates ajar " and four-leaved clovers, made a pleasant contrast. Philip always liked 

lambs and doves; and between these skeleton it; unconsciously, his artistic sense was gratified. 


emblems hung numerous wreaths of white "im- 
mortelles," on which were mottos in purple : 
A monfils, A ma mere, Pries pour nous, and the 
like. The Creoles often bought those; there- 
fore, Toinette kept them ready with the French 
mottos. As Philip passed through the room, 
the evening sun darted in at the west window, 
and all the frames sparkled like silver. They 
gave a kind of richness to the place, and set off 

and, besides, it was his home, the only one he 
had ever known, and it was very dear to him. 

He entered his little room, and glanced at 
his white cot draped with the mosquito bar ; at 
the little table by the rose-covered window, on 
which lay his slate and books. He thought 
proudly in his little heart that there could be 
no prettier place in the world. A small brown 
bird hung on a branch of the rose-bush, and 



twittered " sweety-sweety-sweet." Philip re- 
peated the caressing notes in a tone exactly 
like its own, while he bathed his hands and 
face, and brushed his tangled hair. Then he 
took a prayer-book from a shelf over his bed, 
and went out to the gallery where Toinette was 
waiting for him. After their simple meal was 
over, Toinette pushed back her chair and com- 
posed herself into a listening attitude. 

" Oh, Mammy," said Philip coaxingly, as he 
took the prayer-book and turned the pages, 
" I 'm awful tired ! Can't I skip the Ten Com- 
mandments to-night ? " 

" Certainly not," replied Toinette, severely. 
" Have you ever missed saying them a night 
since you knew them ? Go on, cherj I 've some 
work to do before dark, and you have your 
lessons to learn. Was Pere Josef satisfied with 
you this morning?" 

" He said he was. He said I did my analyse 
very well. So you won't let me off to-night. 
Well, then, I may as well say them." 

And Philip, composing his face to a becom- 
ing gravity, repeated in a gentle droning voice 
the Ten Commandments, the Creed, and the 
Lord's Prayer. When he had finished, Toinette 
bowed her head and said softly, " Amen." After 
that serious duty was over, he got his books and 
sat on the steps to study, while Toinette cleared 
the table and busied herself for some time 

When she came out again, she looked at 
Philip anxiously; the boy was sitting with his 
chin in his palms, and his books were lying 
neglected at his feet. She glanced again at 
him; he was in deep thought. What could the 
child be thinking of? Suddenly Toinette looked 
older and feebler, and her hands shook as she 
tried to sort some seeds. 

There was something she had been dreading 
lately. It was a question, and he might ask it 
at any moment. As he sat there in the soft even- 
ing light, he all at once looked older to her, 
and with an inward shiver she felt that it was 

Suddenly he raised his eyes, and fixing them 
on her gravely, he said: "Mammy, that gentle- 
man asked me to-day if my father and mother 
are living. Are they?" 

Toinette turned very pale, and looked away 
from the child's clear gaze. " No," she replied 
tremulously. " No, my child ; you lost them 
both when you were a few months old." 

"Well, he asked me what my other name 
was. Have I got another name?" 

"Certainly you have," gasped Toinette; "but 
what need of asking such questions? It can't 
matter to a little boy like you." 

"Yes, Mammy, it does; now I think of it, all 
boys have two names. Even little Bill is named 
Bill Brown, and I 'm only Toinette's Philip." 

A look of pain passed over Toinette's face, 
and for a moment she remained silent; then 
she said gravely and decidedly: "You must 
never ask me any more such questions, Philip. 
When the right time comes you will know all 
about it. Some day, when I 'm not here, Pere 
Josef will tell you. He has some papers for 
you when you are older. I can't tell you any- 
thing now. Forget all about it and attend to 
your lessons, or Pere Josef won't be satisfied 
with you to-morrow." 

Philip picked up his book, and fixed his eyes 
on the page before him, but he did not see it. 
Suddenly a strange curiosity was awakened in 
his mind. His mammy would not satisfy it, but 
perhaps Pere Josef would. He would ask him 
about it in the morning. 

{To be continued.) 

SLEEPY Dormouse "I 've only just retum'd, my dear," 

who had passed 
The winter in 
her nest, 
lA-. Hearing that 

■>'w\ s P rin g had 

/ /yui'MI'J{ come at last, 

ffi Got up at once, 
half dressed, 

The sleepy Dormouse said, 
" From Florida — the winters here, 
You know, affect my head." 

" Have you, indeed ? " exclaimed her friend. 
" I 'm glad to see you home. 
I, too, have just returned — I spend 
My winters down in Rome." 

And, hastening from her 
downy house 
To hail the new spring 
She ran against another 
That lived across the way 

The shock was such, at first the two 

Could scarcely speak for lack 
Of breath. Then each cried, 
"Oh, it 's you! 
Why, when did you 
get back?" i 

With many pawshakes then, at last 
They parted — each to say, 

" I wonder where that 
creature passed 

n-l^-flBfcTP"^ T ne wmter an y _ 


By J. O. Davidson. 


To a monk of England was for many years 
awarded the honor of inventing gunpowder, 
which unchurchly article immediately became 
a very convenient and popular means for people 
to kill one another with. The claim had to be 
given up, however, when it became known that 
in far-away and sleepy China, gunpowder and 
guns, as well as fire-crackers, had roared, 
popped, and banged centuries before the 
learned monk was born. 

Some time later an enterprising explorer dis- 
covered a tribe of savages that blew little 
poisoned arrows through long reeds, and with 
them settled many an old grudge against their 
tribal enemies. They also used their deadly 
puffs of air in the pursuit of game too wary to be 
captured by a snare. For many years this was 
pointed out as an example of great inventive 

genius in the savages, until two young gentle- 
men of the tribe who were not on speaking 
terms with one another, owing to their rivalry 
as shots, came to blows. The defeated one let 
the cat out of the bag, so to speak, by leading 
the white men to a stream where the fish with 
unerring aim blew drops of water into the air 
at the giddy-headed flies resting on the bank, 
tumbling them into the water and into the fishes' 
mouths as well. 

Whether the street-boys of Athens knew the 
use of the putty-blower or not, history fails to 
state; but it is more than probable that they did, 
for a famous English naval writer of the six- 
teenth century claimed to have proof that some 
of the Grecian war-galleys had projecting at their 
sides tubes from which were darted shot with a 
" vapor that roared." Simply big putty-blowers, 



the "Vesuvius. 593 

you see. The squid or cuttlefish darts through at the bow. Most of these guns lie at an angle 
the waves by ejecting a quick stream of water slanting back and downward to where the air- 
through a little tube under its chin ; and this compressors lie close to the heel. 


plan was so well copied by an American inven- 
tor (Dr. Jackson), that he made a hundred-foot 
steamer go through the waves at twelve miles 
an hour by pumping water through a nozzle 
under the stern, where the rudder is usually 
found in such craft. In London mail-bags and 
some railway trains are now driven successfully 
by compressed air. So the saying that " there 's 
nothing new under the 
sun" is to a certain 
extent true enough. 

The most recent ap- 
plications of the blow- 
pipe principle, how- 
ever, are the three 
air-guns of the United 
States "torpedo cruis- 
er" (or as she is also 
called, the " pneumatic 
cruiser") "Vesuvius." 
This vessel of war is 
251 feet 9 inches long, 
26 feet 5 inches wide, 
draws 9 feet of water 
and has a displace- 
ment of 725 tons, she 
is of 3 7 94 horse-power, 
and she darts over the 
waves at a speed of 25 
miles per hour. She is 
too beautiful and fast 
a craft to be called a 
"blowpipe gunboat"; 
but that is exactly what 
she is, because of the 
blowguns which stick 
up through the deck 
Vol. XX.— 38. 


Into the somewhat bottle-shaped steel flasks 
which are shown in the diagram on page 592, air 
has been forced until it is compressed under a 





strain of 2000 pounds to the square inch, by engines especially con- 
structed for that purpose. The shells, or bombs, or darts fired from 
the guns are made partly of iron, of brass, and of copper. They 
are 10 feet long, 15 inches wide, and while some are of uniform 
width, others give up half their length to a thin spindle or 
tail having metal fans at the end, and looking somewhat like a 
huge, clumsy arrow. These darts are kept in three barrel-like 
"revolvers," and as there are five darts in each, the Vesuvius can 
throw fifteen projectiles in rapid succession. 

to be loaded, about twenty feet of its lower end drops down by 

from the revolver directly in front of it one of the bombs is 

lowered end, which is then pulled up again in line with the 

all is ready, a lever in the conning tower* is moved, enough 

reservoirs, and away goes the dart flying through the air to 


The operation, which seems s so simple, does not look very formidable as a method 
of warfare; but that dart whirled away by the blowpipe is in reality the most deadly 

weapon known to war, afloat or ashore, for in the head of the missile is stored 500 

pounds of guncotton, than which no more terrible explosive is known that can be so 

used. The name guncotton sounds innocent enough, and the material is nothing 

more than the cotton waste, with which vou have often seen engineers cleaning their 

engines, soaked in nitric and sulphuric acids, and washed clear again. A pound of 

this will burn quietly, but when it is struck \ or " detonated," it explodes with a force 

When a gun is 
means of a hinge, and 
pushed back into the 
rest of the tube. When 
air admitted from one of the 
a distance of one and a half 



sufficient to blow up a good-sized house. If 
one or more letters cut out, and a pound of gun- 
figures cut in the paper will be stamped into the 
think of such force, and then imagine 500 pounds of 

In the recent aiming trials on the Vesuvius, some of 
before the target, dove under it for forty feet, 
waves, then dove again, playing the game of 

The great bombs, flying for a mile and a 
ject aimed at by more than a few feet ; and 
the target's place it would assuredly have 
atoms. A new exploding device was used 
and it did not work well; but as there are fuses 
fail, the system of throwing guncotton, or 
or gunpowder by compressed air is a perfect 
even in a high cross-wind. 

What amount of damage will be done to a 
vessel when one of the 500-pound charges is ex- 
ploded on her deck, it is impossible to state, since it 
never yet has occurred ; but it is reasonable to sup- 
pose, from the effect on rocks and earth in land 
trials, that the ship must be torn asunder and sunk on 
the instant. 

It will not always be the object of the air-gunners, how- 
ever, to destroy a vessel completely, for it is often more 
desirable to disable a vessel and to capture her and her crew. 

* A strong steel turret, like a pilot-house, from which the officers can 
safely direct all the actions of the vessel and keep the enemy in view. 

upon an anvil is laid a piece of paper with 

cotton is exploded on it, the letters or 

metal one quarter of an inch deep. Just 

guncotton exploding on a ship or fort. 

the darts, after striking close 

then jumped clear of the 

marine leap-frog for 300 feet. 

half, rarely missed the ob- 




test this possibility, trials have been ordered in 
which a ship's boat while being towed by a 
long line from a steamer moving fifteen miles 
an hour will be fired at by the Vesuvius, also 
going at full speed and approaching it from one 
side. This will be known as the " moving tar- 
get " trial, and will be very interesting, for the 
object will be to hit as near as possible without 
actually strik- 
ing the boat, 
as shown in 
the picture. 
It is claimed 
that if one of 
these bombs 
explodes near 
the side of a 
ship it will 
create such a 
concussion of 
the air that 
the ship's 
plates will be 
loosened, her 
guns upset, 
her machin- 
ery thrown 
out of place, 
and her boil- 
ers started 
leaking. And 
no doubt her 
crew will 

gladly surren- 
der before a 
second such 

On June 
30, 1886, the 

to look on at the strange sight. The monitor's 
turret, looking like a little cheese-box at the dis- 
tance of a mile and a half, will appear almost 
too small a mark. The Vesuvius will steam 
to within striking-distance, and launch one of 
her darts into the air. It will not fly so fast as 
a cannon-ball, and will be seen all the way. It 
will not howl or whistle like a rifled shell, but 



British ironclad turret-ship " Royal Sovereign " 
was anchored near the ironclad " Bellerophon " 
off the Isle of Wight, and several shots were fired 
at her turrets from a 9-inch gun. It did not re- 
quire many shots to demonstrate that in a short 
time the iron turrets would be battered to pieces. 
It is now proposed to anchor, in the lower bay 
of New York harbor, one of the old United 
States monitors that saw service in the war, and 
to let the dangerous Vesuvius show what she 
can do with her. There will be many thousands 


will go on its way with a low whispering 
sound. If it strikes the water before exploding, 
a grand fountain of spray and water will be 
tossed toward the sky. If it explodes in air 
or on the monitor's deck, there will result a 
flash as of lightning, but no boom like that 
of a cannon will follow. The noise will be 
an ear-splitting crash, the water will upheave 
as if there was an earthquake, and the moni- 
tor, as if struck by a giant hand, will sink in 


By Margaret Johnson. 

CERTAIN king, be- 
loved by all 
Who thronged his 
stately lobbies, 
• Like other men, was 

grave or glad 
As fortunes changed; and, 
like them, had 
His own especial hobbies — 
The which he aired, be it confessed, 
With something more than common zest. 

By his opinions obstinate 

Sometimes a little blinded, 
Of pompous mien and manners bland, 
Good-natured, simple-hearted, and 

Extremely absent-minded, — 
A king he was, if not to fear, 
With loyal fondness to revere. 

One day, when from the cares of state 
The Queen and he were resting, 
And in the book the King perused 
Some argument the author used 
His favorite theme suggesting, 
He praised, as was his wont to her, 
The power of ^, kingly character. 

HERE is," said he, " in 
A certain grace es- 
sential, — 
A charm which cannot 
be concealed, 
That shines through all disguise, revealed 
In majesty potential, — 
A bland, benignant influence shed 
Where'er the royal steps may tread. 



" Now, in a book of ancient tales 

I 've read the curious story 
Of old Haroun al Raschid's plan, — 
You recollect, my dear ? — a man, 

Not all unknown to glory, 
Who, walking through his realm, disguised, 
His subjects' doings supervised. 


how absurd ! No 
King could thus 
Escape their recogni- 
tion ! 
Why, from a hundred. 


The royal presence must 


By instant intuition. 

The hundredth, — well, 

a babe, mayhap, 
Or one with bells upon 
his cap. 

Of pattern strange and meager; 
Also a pair of ragged hose, 
And shoes that scarcely hid his toes. 

With joyful haste he drew them forth, 
Nor paused to prink or dally. 
Hind side before and wrong side out, 
He got them on at last, without 

A mirror or a valet, 
And muffled half his royal face 
Within the ragged cloak's embrace. 

Then down a secret stair he stole 
With footsteps swift and stealthy, 

And out into the city street, 

Where, lo ! the first he chanced to meet — 
A lad both stout and healthy — 

Turned pale and stared, then on the ground 

Knelt down in reverence profound. 

" Nay," and the King, who loved in such 

Diversions to engage her, 
Smiled as he cried in great delight, 
•' I '11 prove the thing this very night, 
And lay with you a wager : 
A ton of Huylerico's best 
Is yours, my dear, if fails the test." 

■' Agreed, my love," she murmured, half 
Unconscious of his meaning; 

Then, while her lord retired in glee, 

Took up her novel, languidly 
Among her cushions leaning ; 

For on the hearth the fire was bright, 

And soft the candles' shaded light. 

UT to the garret ran the 
Excited still, and 
And sought and found 

an ancient suit, 
Threadbare and frayed; 
a cloak, to boot, 

The King could scarce contain his glee. 

Fulfilled was his prediction ! 
And on he sped, at every turn 
Some fresh, emphatic proof to earn 

Of his sublime conviction : 
Until his heart so raptured leapt 
For pride and joy he could have wept. 




HROUGH stately 

avenues he went, 
Through alleys dark 

and narrow ; 
He met the merchant 

and the clerk, 
The courtier with his 

crafty smirk, 

The huckster with his barrow 
The fool, the rogue, the minister. 
The damsel and the dowager. 

He stood with soldiers fierce and dark, 

Amid the blare of trumpets ; 
He climbed the student's lonely stair, 
And stole into the kitchens, where 

The maids were toasting crumpets : 
They dropped their forks and shrieked aloud, 
And then in coy obeisance bowed ! 


Where sailors spun their yarns he went; 

Where whining beggars hobbled ; 
To balls and theaters and shops, 
And where with marbles and with tops 

The noisy urchins squabbled, 
Or, melancholy as his bell, 
The sexton tolled the midnight knell. 

And still, as on the 

monarch fared, 
Where'er his fancy 
drew him, 
Some laughed, some 
frowned, some 
only stared, 

And some were 
obviously scared, 
But everybody 
knew him ; 
And, soon or late, 
in homage bent : 
Till, faint and tired, 
with mud be- 




Homeward he turned, — less fit, indeed, 

For palace than for hovel, — 
And, flushed with victory, sought the Queen, 
Who, still in languorous ease serene, 

Was buried in her novel, 
While on the hearth the fire burned low, 
And paler grew the candles' glow. 


" My love," he said, in accents hoarse, 
But tenderly facetious, 
' The candy 's mine ! Observe me, pray ! 
Note well my garb, nor ever say 

My arguments are specious. 
For know that all, though thus disguised, 

In me the KING have 
recognized ! " 


,HE lifted slow her grace- 
ful head, 
With just a glance 
of wonder, 
Suppressed a yawn, or 
— could it be? — 
A smile of faintest 
Her slender fingers under. 
" You 're absent-minded, dear" she said, — 
"Your crown is still upon your head. 1 '" 


By Alice Katharine Fallows. 

I think — I really think I cried, 
A little bit, when Timmie died. 
You see he was so soft and gray, 
And liked so very much to play, 
That when I found him cold and still. 
Stretched out beside the barn-door sill, 
It seemed as if he 'd just forgot 
To breathe a little minute, not 
That he was dead. I smoothed the paws 
That covered up his cunning claws. 
He did not stir. Then Helen found 
A ribbon, and she tied it round 

His neck. T was new and red. 
But oh ! my Timmie cat was dead, 
And ribbons could not make him see, 
Or give my kitty back to me. 
And then we buried little Tim 
Beneath the sunflowers, with a rim 
Of pansies — purple ones and gold. — 
Around him; and I let him hold 
A favorite spool, his very own. 
Then, when we left him there alone, 
I 'm sure you think I might have cried 
A little bit 'cause Timmie died. 


By Richard Burton. 

The wind-broom sweeps so wondrous clean 
That when you hear it upon high 
Go swishing by, go swishing by, 

You may be sure the sky-folk mean 

To make their homes all fair to see, 
Garnished, and gay as gay can be 
O' nights, for starry company. 


By Willi aji O. Stoddard. 

[Bcgutt ill the November nnmbcr.\ 

Chapter XIII. 
near the cave. 

Hugh and his mother knew that other eyes 
must be near them. Hugh had already told 
his mother all that had happened to him and 
Ned Wentworth since they had left the picnic 
party to hunt ; but she was too thirsty and tired 
and excited to say much in reply. She was afraid 
to have him talk now, except in whispers ; but 
he insisted that he knew where they were, and 
that they were getting nearer the " front door " 
of the cave-man's hidden house. 

" I cannot walk any farther, Hugh," she sud- 
denly exclaimed. " I am faint." 

There was an answer, but it did not come 
from him. " Silence ! " was the warning from 
a shadow near them. " Down, both of you ! 
Let them go by ! " 

Down sank Lady Parry and her son, shiver- 
ing with surprise and fear, while there was a 
rustling sound near. 

" Hugh," whispered the voice, " I 've found 
your father. I 've brought him into the cave. 
You and your mother must wait just where you 
are. Three of those robbers have scouted 
this way. They 're going back to their camp 
soon, and when the coast is clear you can go 
right in. Wait till you hear me ' coo-ee-e ' before 
you move. I '11 draw them off for you." 

" Mother," whispered Hugh, " it 's Beard. 

Keep still! " — and he added to the cave-man 
in the dark, " All right; we '11 wait." 

A few minutes later, they heard the trampling 
of feet, and the sound of rough, low voices, 
passing very near them. She put an arm around 
Hugh, and he raised his gun and cocked it 
with a thrill of courage. 

That was the last scout made that night by 
the white robbers ; but the blackfellows were 
still stirring, and the little black boy had yet 
another thing happen to him. He had almost 
found his people, — or believed that he had, — 
and indeed several of them crept close to him 
in the gloom. He believed it until two of 
them caught him by his arms, and a harsh voice 
rasped out : " Ka-kak-kia ! " 

He was a captive once more, and in worse 
hands than before. He was likely to lose all 
his sticks again, and his life too. He knew it, 
but he behaved with stubborn pluck, and did 
not utter a sound. 

Ka-kak-kia did not intend to kill his prisoner, 
or to steal sticks from him. 

He told him to go and find his friends, and 
to say that the blackfellows must stop killing 
one another until after their fight with the white 
fellows, of all sorts, should be finished. They 
must act, for a day or so, as if they were friends. 

It seemed an unheard-of proposal, but the 
black boy listened, and at the end of it they let 
go of him. He gathered all the sticks he had 
rescued, hugged them tightly, and darted for- 


60 1 

ward, hardly more than half sure that he had 
not been killed. 

His next report was to his lame father, and 
then all the others of that party knew what had 
become of their slain comrade. When they 
heard the strange proposal made by Ka-kak- 
kia, they at once agreed to it ; for short truces 
are a sort of custom among all their tribes. 
Then the woods heard cry after cry that must 
have been understood, for in a very short time 
the blackfellows of both parties were grouped 
together around a fire they lighted. But not 

sprang to her feet with a frightened exclama- 
tion, and she breathed quickly for a moment 
as she strove to remember where she was. 
She thought of being brave, too, and drew 
her revolver out of its case; but it seemed to 
tremble so much as to be of no use. 

There was the river, gleaming in the moon- 
light. Behind her lay the dark, terrible forest, 
with its untold dangers. At her side were the 
two faithful hounds, baying their angry warn- 
ings at something yet unseen. Helen's first 
thought was of the dingos, but then she re- 


one of them had anything to cook by it, or was 
then likely to have, for all the food, found or 
stolen, in the robbers' camp, had been eaten. 

Helen Gordon was suddenly startled from 
the half nap into which she had fallen. She 

membered the blackfellows. One of the dogs 
dashed forward, and Helen heard : 

"Who could have expected to find you here! 
Where 's the camp ? " 

The other dogs followed the first, and Ned 
Wentworth found himself nearly upset by them. 




" Oh, Ned ! " cried Helen, half sobbing, as she 
sprang toward him from the foot of the tree. 

" Poor Helen ! " exclaimed Ned. " Why, 
where are all the rest ? " 

In a few moments she explained. 

'• We '11 start right away," said Ned. " We 
can get back to the cave by moonlight. 
There 's no more danger in trying it than there 
is in staying here. You mount, and I '11 lead 
the horse. Come ! " 

He felt as if he were a knight-errant guarding 
a princess from giants and dragons. For her 
part, Helen felt almost cheerful. 

" Don't talk, Helen," said Ned ; " we must 
make no more noise than we can help." 

Still, they did exchange a few whispered 
words as they went along. 

After Beard left Lady Parry and Hugh, he 
moved away rapidly, seeming to be laboring 
under strong excitement or even suffering. It 
was only a minute or two, however, before they 
heard a clear, prolonged " Coo-ee-e ! Coo- 
ee-e ! " at some distance. 

" There," said Hugh. " That must be Beard. 
It means that we can go right along. Come, 
Mother, we can get to the cave. Father is safe 
somewhere. So is Helen. Come ! It is not 
so very far." 

" Coo-ee-e ! " sounded again, a little more 

"Don't you see, Mother?" said Hugh; 
" Beard is drawing the robbers off." 

The three robber-scouts followed the coo- 
ee-e rapidly, for several minutes, because it was 
leading them toward their own camp. Then 
one of them said : 

" Jim, it 's no use ! I 'm fagged out. We can't 
catch anything in the dark. All I was hoping 
for was to surprise him by a camp-fire or in 
a shanty." 

So they gave up the search ; but that coo- 
ee-e had been heard by the blackfellows also, 
and had brought them all to their feet except 
Ka-kak-kia. He had a very good reason for 
not heeding it. 

" Friend," he said ; and then he explained to 
the rest that he knew the voice very well. 
" Not kill him right away," he said ; and all 
answered, as with one voice, in their own tongue : 

" That 's the white fellow who can't be killed. 
He won't die." 

Somehow or other, they had all acquired that 
notion concerning the cave-man. 

Hugh helped his mother to mount her horse. 
The noble animal was more thirsty than weary, 
and plodded along, keeping his head over 
Hugh's shoulder, as if afraid of something, he 
knew not what. Lady Parry was regaining her 
courage. She had found her son, and she was 
now going to find her husband. 

Her husband, sitting there in the cave, began 
to feel almost as if he were no better off than 
before. He was no longer hungry or thirsty. 
He was too strong a man to be tired, and he 
was becoming restless. 

" I saw him go out in that direction," he 
remarked, at last. " Maybe I could find that 
front door without any help. At all events I 
can't be cooped up here any longer." 

He kindled a torch, and tried to find Beard's 
way out. He went only a step at a time, study- 
ing the walls and the pillars, and as he walked, 
he talked to himself: 

" Here are two saddles," he said, " and bri- 
dles. He seems to have all sorts of things — 
firearms and tools. I wonder who he is, and 
what he is doing here ? An escaped convict, 
most likely. But, then, he did n't wish to do 
me any harm, and he would n't let me hurt 
the blackfellow. There 's certainly some good 
in him, and I must n't forget that he saved 
Hugh's life, and Ned's life, and my own. 
Hullo ! Here 's a sort of opening. I '11 explore 
it. Ah — I have put out my torch !" 

He had bumped his head, and put out his 
torch against the low, sloping roof of rock 
above him. 

" It 's a pokerish place to creep about in," 
he went on. " What 's that ? " 

He was suddenly aware that there was some- 
body else in that narrow passage. He spoke 
no more aloud, but his thoughts were busy. 

" I hear breathing. Some one is surely creep- 
ing in. They have found the front door, that 
he said was so safely hidden. Shall I have to 
fight a blackfellow in here ? It can't be one 
of the boys. Either of the boys would have 
spoken. I 'd better get out my revolver ! " 

Hugh at the same moment was making 

i8 93 .] 


60 ' 

ready his revolver. For Hugh and his mother 
had reached and found die front door, and 
they were creeping into the cave. The boy 
had also heard some one moving, for he was 
saying to himself: 

" It can't be Ned or Beard ! " 

" Hugh," said his mother aloud, " I wish I 
could stand up. Can't you call out and let 
anybody in there know we are here ? " 

" Hugh ? Hurrah ! " And then, knowing 
her husband's voice, Lady Parry exclaimed : 

'• Is that you, Frederick ? Quick, Hugh ! 
Move faster ! You are not hurt, are you ? " 

"No; wait — I '11 relight the torch," said 
Sir Frederick. " If this is n't the strangest 
meeting ! " 

Before long they were standing in front of 
the fire, and Hugh was heaping it with dry 
branches from Beard's wood-pile. 

" Has n't he a beautiful house, Mother ? " 
Hugh asked, as the brilliant blaze lighted up 
the cave. " I will go for some water, Father, 
while you see whether you can get mother some- 
thing to eat." 

" Hugh, take some water out to the horse, if 
you can," said his mother. 

"Of course I will! " said Hugh, promptly. 

He picked up the tin kettle, a coil of bark 
rope, and a torch, and walked far into the cave. 
His mother's eyes followed him for a moment, 
and then she turned and put her hands upon 
Sir Frederick's shoulders, and looked anxiously 
into his face. 

" Fred," she said, " what can have become 
of Helen? Do you know anything about her?" 

" I hoped that both of you had found your 
way back to camp," replied the baronet, 
gloomily. " I still hope that she did." 

Hardly had he said the words when she 
heard the barking of the dogs, and Ned and 
Helen entered the cave. 

Ned Wentworth led Nap along through the 
forest and through the scrubby growth along 
the foot of the mountain. Helen was no 
longer thirsty, but she was so weary and faint 
that she could hardly keep the saddle. Ned 
himself felt his weariness coming back again, 
but it was as nothing compared to his anxiety 
lest he should lose his way. He almost forgot 

his fear of the blackfellows in his dread of 

" Here we are, Helen," he exclaimed at last. 
" I can see the tree. We can leave Nap here, 
but the danger is n't quite over. Can you 
walk ? " 

" I can, for a short distance," said Helen, 
smiling bravely as he helped her down; "but — 
I am so tired ! " 

Off came the saddle and bridle to be hidden 
in the underbrush, and Nap was turned loose 
to feed, while Ned, with Helen leaning upon 
his arm, walked bravely on through what 
seemed to him their last danger. 

" It 's over at last," he exclaimed, as they 
reached the tree. " Now, Helen — " he drew 
a long breath of dismay at that moment, and 
exclaimed in a frightened tone : 

" Helen ! I 'm afraid we are too late. The 
cave has been discovered ! Somebody has 
gone in and left the front door open ! " 

" But, Ned," said Helen, " see the dogs." 
For in a flash the dogs had scrambled into 
the entrance to the cave. 

" That 's a good sign, I think," said Ned. 
" I '11 go ahead, anyhow, and you creep in after 
me. Do you dare to follow? It 's dark ! " 

" I '11 come, Ned," said Helen, bravely. " I 
can't stay here by myself." 

Ned was already disappearing into the bur- 
row. Helen felt fainter than before, but fol- 
lowed him upon her hands and knees. 

" The torch is gone," she heard Ned mutter. 
" Well, we must go ahead. I '11 be ready to 
shoot. See, there 's a light coming. Helen," 
he added more loudly, " somebody 's here. I 
hope it 's Hugh ! " 

" Who 's there ? " shouted a deep, gruff, yet 
somewhat shaky voice. " Speak quickly." 

"Who is it?" added a woman's voice. "Is 
it you, Ned Wentworth ? " 

" Aunt Maude and Uncle Fred ! Both right 
here in the cave-house ! " exclaimed Helen. 

" Helen Gordon and Ned ! " exclaimed Sir 
Frederick. " Can it be possible ? " 

Hugh had hurried with the kettle of water, 
and was back at the fireplace when the party 
met at the front door. He saw the dogs, too, 
and he called : 

" Mother, has Ned found Helen ? " 



'• Hugh," came back the voice of Sir Freder- 
ick, " they are all found ! " 

" We are safe," remarked Lady Parry, thank- 
fully ; " but — I wish I knew how we are to 
get back to camp, — and to the Grampians." 

Chapter XIV. 


Large caves are very likely to have branches. 
Beard's cave, at a first glance, seemed to con- 
sist only of the vast hollow which began at the 
fissure leading into it from under the great 
tree. The fact, however, that it had a side 
door proved that it was very much like other 

So far as any of Beard's present guests were 
aware, the space near the fireplace was the 
most comfortable room in his " house." If it 
contained no chairs, there were blocks of stone 
to sit upon. There was no other furniture, not 
so much as a dinner-table, as the guests remem- 
bered when the boy cooks announced that 
dinner was ready, as they shortly did. 

" I 'm sleepy, rather than hungry," said Lady 
Parry, " and I am tired enough to sleep, even 
on a stone floor." 

" Sir Frederick," came, at that moment, from 
among the group of pillars near the entrance, 
" will you please step this way for a moment. 
Ned — you come, too!" 

The voice was deep and clear. 

" That 's Beard ! " said Ned. " I 'm coming—" 

" Come here, Beard," said the baronet. 

" No," he replied, " I 've another matter on 
my hands. I am glad you 're all safe." 

Sir Frederick was a man accustomed to have 
his own way, but the flush that came to his face 
was quickly gone, and he arose and went to the 

" Beard," he said, " come in and speak to 
Lady Parry and my niece. They wish to thank 
you — " 

" Not now ! There is no time ! " said Beard, 
hastily. "In among the stalagmites, yonder, you 
will find some grass-matting bags, stuffed with 
moss. They will be better than the rock for 
ladies to sleep on. Ned, get your gun and 
come with me." 

" All right," said Ned, and he went back for 


his gun, although even his tough young mus- 
cles had a strained feeling. 

" Sir Frederick," continued Beard, " not one 
of you must venture out while I am gone. The 
woods are full of dangers. Hugh and Ned must 
bring me a kettle of water for the horses, — just 
to wet their mouths a little." 

" We '11 stay here," said the baronet, and he 
turned and repeated the warning to Hugh and 

Then he tried to ask Beard a number of 
questions, but he was altogether unable to ob- 
tain from the cave-man any information. So he 
went back to Lady Parry and Helen. The 
water was brought, and Ned followed his 
strange friend out into the open air. 

" I know where to find the horses," said 
Beard. " Just a little taste for each will do, till 
we get back. I sha'n't be gone long." 

Ned crouched in some underbrush while 
Beard disappeared among the shadows. 

" He shut the front door carefully enough," 
said Ned to himself. " What can he be up to ? 
I can stand it better than Hugh can. I 'm 
tougher, somehow. He 's about used up; but 
then he 's stronger than I in pulling or lifting." 

Ned had but a short time to wait, and he 
was almost surprised that nothing happened to 
him while he was waiting. He was getting so 
used to having queer things happen that he 
missed them if they did not come. 

" The horses have been needing that water," 
remarked Beard, when he came gliding back 
and put down his kettle. " They 're all right, 
and we can find them in the morning. Now, 
Ned, you and I must go and get some coffee 
for Lady Parry. We shall get another prize or 
two besides. 

" Coffee ? " exclaimed Ned. " Where can we 
find coffee in those woods ? " 

" Come with me, and you will soon see," 
said Beard. 

A strange thought entered Ned's mind. He 
saw that Beard seemed much excited; he hardly 
appeared like the same man. His motions 
were nervous and quick, and he spoke rapidly. 
Could it be possible that the cave-man was 
losing his reason ? Perhaps he lived away out 
there because he was crazy and could not live 
with other men. It was a terrible thought, and 

i8 9 3-: 



Ned forgot his weariness while he watched his 

" We '11 get some coffee," repeated Beard. 
" She 's only a woman, and Helen 's but a young 
girl. They need more care than men and boys. 
I 'm glad they are in my house ; but 

they 're not safe yet, by 

At that moment there was a rustle in the 
bushes near them, and Beard stopped short and 
lowered his rifle from his shoulder. Ned did 
the same, but the rustling sound went away, 
a jump at a time, and the cave-man muttered : 
" It was some animal." 

" You saw them tried ? " said Ned. " Was 
he convicted? Did he tell them who he was?" 
" He was too proud for that," said Beard. 
" He went by the name of Rogdon — 
just a twist of his own name. Yes, he 
was convicted and sentenced 
to transportation." 

" And he was transported ? " 

said Ned. " Yes," said 

Beard, " he was 

sent out here. 

any means. I 
know all about 

" How do you 
know all about them ? " 
asked Ned. 

" Lady Maude is a noble 
woman," said Beard, with- 
out noticing the question. 
" I know about her; I knew a 
brother of hers, once." 

"Did you?" said Ned, eag- 
erly. " What sort of a fellow 
was he ? " 

" A most unlucky fellow," said 
Beard. " A great fool, too. So proud 
that he was hardly sound in his mind 
— hot-tempered and obstinate. He got 
into trouble at home and ran away. He 
had a stepfather who was not fair to him — 
or so he thought. Just a fool of a boy, that 's 
all. He ran away and got into bad company, 
and he was too green to know how bad it was. 
They were thieves and counterfeiters, and he 
had n't been with them three days when they 
were caught and he was found with them. I 
was in the court-room when they were tried." 


to Australia, and his pride was as great as ever. 
He got away into the bush among the bush- 
rangers, and he could n't get along — even with 
them. He seemed to make enemies wherever 
he went — in short, he was the greatest fool 
you ever heard of." 

" I know," said Ned, as they walked rapidly 
along, keeping a sharp lookout ; " the bush- 




rangers are about the worst thieves in all the 

" That 's so," said Beard : " they are all of 
that. They are sharp, too. They called Lady 
Parry's brother Big Red, and whenever any- 
thing worse than common was done, they all 
laid it to him — to Big Red; and the Colony 
government ottered heavy rewards for him, 
dead or alive." 

" What became of him ? " asked Ned. 

" Oh, they believe he was lost in the woods 
somewhere ! " said Beard, " or else he 's over 
among the mountains, or in the gold-diggings, 
or living among the blackfellows where no 
white men will ever come. It 's years and 
years since they 've heard of him." 

" I guess they must have given him up long 
ago," said Ned. 

"I suppose they have," said Beard; "but 
he had an older brother that was heir to the 
family property, so it did not make so much 

" He 's in the army and he 's in India," said 
Ned. " Helen is his daughter. She has lost 
her mother, and Lady Parry is bringing her up." 

'• She is a noble woman! " exclaimed Beard. 

It had seemed to do him good to tell that 
story, and he was quieter now; but Ned had 
only a dim idea of the direction in which they 
had walked. 

" Now, Ned," said Beard, " we 're getting 
near the coffee-shop. We 've scouted around 
your old camp by the waterfall. The robbers 
are there. I 'm going to show you something 
new pretty soon — my coffee-shop." 

" Coffee-shop ? " said Ned, and again it 
occurred to him that Beard must be going 

" Here it is," said Beard about five minutes 
later ; and Ned replied : 

" Why, it 's another big tree ! " 

" Only the stump of one," said Beard, laying 
aside his rifle. " I want you to stand right 
here. When I let down anything, you unhitch 
the rope it 's tied to. It '11 take me quite a 
while to climb that stump in the dark. The 
moonshine can't get in here to help me." 

Ned now, for the first time, noticed a coil 
of bark rope that the cave-man carried over 
his shoulders. 

" He is n't climbing the tree," he next re- 
marked; "he is walking away into the woods. 
I do believe that man 's gone crazy. He 's 
surely insane ! " 

Beard seemed to know what he was about, 
however, for he went very straight to the tree 
he had first ascended by, when Ned was not 
there, and up he went into its branches. He 
crept cautiously along, grasping hard and 
making sure of his hold. From tree to tree, 
and up, up, up he went, as if he had been a 
human orang-outang or a gorilla. 

Ned watched with keen anxiety, standing 
there between the ashes of the old camp-fire 
and the foot of the stump. He was not look- 
ing up, but rather watching the gloom around 
him lest any enemy should steal in and take 
him by surprise. 

" Hullo ! " he exclaimed, " what 's that ? " 

He was severely startled, indeed, for some- 
thing had swung against him with a blow that 
all but knocked him down. 

"It is a saddle!" he said. "Beard has 
lowered it from the stump." 

He felt better as he loosened the loop that 
held the saddle. There were a bridle and some 
other things with it. Up went the rope, as 
soon as it was loose, while Ned remarked to 
himself: " But that is n't coffee." 

A few minutes later, as he gazed upward, he 
saw something coming down which seemed to 
glimmer a little. It was lowered slowly and 
steadily until he could take hold of it. 

"It 's a coffee-pot!" he exclaimed. "It 's 
bigger than the one in our camp, and it is two- 
thirds full of coffee ! " 

There was really something startling in re- 
ceiving a pot of coffee in that manner. 

Ned waited patiently, but Beard had finished 
his errand at the top of the stump and was on 
his way down. He had quite a number of 
curious questions to answer, when he again 
came within Ned's reach. 

It did not take him long to find a hiding- 
place for the saddle and other things, and then 
he and Ned and the coffee-pot set out for home. 

All was very quiet there. The sacks of moss 
had been found, and Lady Maude and Helen 
fell asleep upon them as if they had been their 
own beds — Sir Frederick and Hugh had only 

i8g 3 .] 



a small sack for their heads to rest upon, the 
other part of their bed being rock. Both of 
them tried to keep their eyes open, but it was of 
no use, and even Yip and the hounds went to 
sleep. The cave was really the safest sleeping- 
place in all that wilderness. It was silent, ex- 
cept for the dull roar of the torrent. 

" Now, Ned," said Beard, as they plodded 
along with the cofifee-pot, "we are to do a little 
work that is not without danger. We must get 
a look at the fellows who are trying to find us. 
You keep close to me, and be silent!" 

Cautiously, stealthily, they went forward, and 
Ned was trembling with excitement and expec- 

" There," whispered Beard. " They have 
built a fire. Look sharp now ! " 

Ned could at first hardly discover the faint 
glow which his companion had seen ; but it 
grew brighter as they crept nearer, and before 
long Beard whispered: 

" Those are the blackfellows. Both bands 
are together, now; Ka-kak-kia's band and the 
other have united. That means just so much 
greater danger for us. If they were fighting 
each other we could escape more easily. I 'm 
glad to know they 've camped, though, and are 
not out after us. Come, Ned, it won't do to 
scout any nearer a camp of blackfellows. Their 
ears are quicker than a dog's. We must now 
take a look at the land-pirates." 

Ned nodded, without a word, and the cave- 
man went forward again as if he almost knew 
the paths of that forest in the dark. He did 
not have to travel far before he again whispered, 
" There ! " and the glow of another fire began 
to blend faintly with the gloom of the forest. 

"We can venture nearer to them than to 
blackfellows," said Beard, " but we must n't 
actually risk anything." 

"We must get safe back to the cave with our 
coffee," replied Ned. 

Beard seemed entirely satisfied with what 
could be seen from under a bush a hundred 
yards away from the camp. Three of his 
enemies were lying down, asleep. Two were 
sitting up, rifle in lap. One was walking around 
as a sort of patrol. Beyond the glow of their 

( To be con 

camp-fire could be dimly seen the glitter of the 
thundering waterfall. It was a sight well worth 
coming to see. When they were a little further 
away, Beard whispered to Ned : 

"They mean to come after us — or after 
me — in the morning; but I don't believe one 
of them will get back to the gold-diggings. 
The blackfellows' camp-fire is too near this one. 
No," he continued. " They won't do any more 
mining, — or robbing." 

Ned thought of the other camp-fire, with the 
blackfellows around it, but it all seemed much 
like a dream. 

" Come along, Ned," whispered his friend. 
" I can't quite understand why there is n't 
anything stirring, here or there. Hist ! " 

Ned looked toward the land-pirates' camp. 

The men on guard, looking out into the dark, 
could not have seen anything, but a tall, naked 
human figure passed swiftly, glidingly along, 
between Beard and Ned and the firelight. He 
held in his hand a long spear, and he raised it 
and shook it threateningly. 

" He is going to spear one of them ! " whis- 
pered Ned, excitedly. 

" No, he is not," replied Beard. " He is only 
threatening because he feels like it. They never 
throw a spear with the bare hand; they pitch 
them with a throw-stick." 

The blackfellow glided along into the dark- 
ness, and the men he had threatened had no 
idea that he had been near enough to have 
sent his long spear among them. 

" Most likely," said Beard, as he and Ned 
again pushed forward, "the blackfellows will 
wait and follow them by daylight, when they 
can do better throwing, and try some plan to 
attack them separately. That 's their way. Of 
course, they are watching Sir Frederick's camp, 
but they don't know about the cave." 

" Don't you ever get tired ? " asked Ned, in 
a very weary tone of voice. 

" I hardly know what tire is," replied the 
cave-man, smiling. " I 'm all right. Here we 
are. Now, you carry in the coffee and tell them 
how things are. Tell them not to try to leave 
the cave till I come. I think it would be sure 
destruction for them to make a start, just 
now. So remember, Ned." 

tinued. ) 

By Tappan Adney. 

Y the river, it 
was two days' 
journey in the 
canoe to the 
while straight 
through the 
forest it was 
fully a score of 
miles, and the railroad was ninety-eight miles 
away. It was a wild, rough country, a wilder- 
ness of firs and spruce and paper-birches; of 
lakes and trout-streams fringed or choked with 
alders ; in the very heart of the Province of 
New Brunswick in Canada. 

It was the beavers' home — but men had al- 
ready learned the way there, and wherever men 
go the same story always may be told. The 
beavers' wonderful houses, built with such skill 
and care, were destroyed ; the dams were broken 
and the ponds were drained. Year after year 
when the trappers returned home, most of the 
beavers went with them. The few that escaped 
were those that left their haunts on the more 
prominent waterways ; so when I visited that 
country, in the summer of 1892, beavers were to 
be found, with a few exceptions, only in out-of- 
the-way places on the smaller brooks. 

Our camp was on the Serpentine River. My 
tramps, sometimes alone, sometimes in the com- 
pany of an old trapper, led twenty miles from 
home in one direction, and seventeen miles in 
the other. Everywhere were traces of beavers, 

and there are unmistakable signs by which their 
presence may be known, although the animal 
itself is rarely seen. For to-day, of their former 
great numbers, scarcely one in twenty-five 

The beaver belongs to that family of which 
the common house-rat is a member, and in 
general appearance its body is like that of a 
giant muskrat. It is the largest of all rodents or 
"gnawers," the body, when fully grown, being 
about thirty inches in length, of which the head 
alone is six inches. The hind feet are large as 
compared with the front ones, and are webbed 
like those of a duck, to aid it in swimming. 
But that feature which is most popularly known 
is a wide, flat, scale-covered tail that is about 
five inches across its widest part and adds 
nearly a foot to its owner's total length. Its 
shape suggests a trowel, which has led some 
people to believe it is used as such. But 
probably its most important use is as a support 
to the body when the animal sits erect upon its 
hind legs, as it does when eating and when fell- 
ing trees. 

As in every " gnawer," its skull is armed with 
two long chisel-like teeth in each jaw. These 
teeth are exceedingly powerful, and are to a 
beaver what an ax is to a woodsman. One 
such tooth taken from the lower jaw of a 
medium-sized skull (they can be removed with- 
out difficulty, unlike the most of ours) is bent 
into nearly a semicircle, and measures five 
inches along its outer curve. Only one inch 



of this length projects from the skull. The cor- 
responding one from the upper jaw is bent into 
more than a complete half-circle, and measures 
upon its outer face four inches, of which less 
than an inch protrudes from its bone casing. 
In width each tooth is five eighths of an inch. 
Examination of one of them reveals the secret 
of how a beaver can perform such feats as 

which keeps it constantly growing. Thus, not 
only is the natural wearing away provided 
against, but a certain amount of wear becomes 
an actual necessity. With such instruments, 
the beaver is admirably fitted for obtaining its 
natural food, the bark of shrubs and trees. 
None of the evergreens are touched, but the 
more delicately flavored barks of whitewood, 


chopping down a birch-tree sixteen inches in 
diameter, not to speak of softer woods, like the 
basswood, of much greater size. The tooth is 
composed of two materials. Along the outer 
face or front of the tooth is a thin plate of ex- 
ceedingly hard enamel ; on the inner, form- 
ing the body of the tooth, is a substance called 
dentine. The dentine, being softer, wears away 
with use; the thin enamel remains compara- 
tively unworn, so that the tooth assumes the 
shape of a keen chisel that never grows dull. 
The tooth is hollow at the base for half its 
length, and is filled with a nourishing substance 
Vol. XX.— 39. 

moosewood, and alder, and the smaller poplars 
and maples, are chosen. But especially do they 
like the inner bark and that on the smaller 
limbs of the paper- or canoe-birch. 

A shrub of an inch thickness is cut down at 
two or three bites, the top and twigs are bitten 
off, and the pole dragged away to be peeled. 
But with a large birch the case is different. 
With powerful cuts the tree is gnawed into 
upon every side, and chips like those shown on 
the next page, and often three inches in length, 
are strewn about the ground. At each cut the 
surface of the wood is left as if chiseled with a 




pair of tiny gouges. These are sure signs of 
beaver-work. The stump is rounded as is shown 

in the picture on the next 
page. Should the tree 
lodge, the trunk is again 
cut as high as the beaver 
can reach. Afterward all 
the limbs are hewn off 
and carried away, even 
to those as thick as a 
man's arm. 

the sum- 
mer days 
beave r s 
wander a- 
bout, usu- 
ally with no fixed abode. They 
then occupy old houses or holes 
in the banks of streams, to which 
latter they also resort when 
driven from their winter houses 
by the spring freshets. 

These burrows, Indians say, 
are made by beavers too lazy to 
build a dam and house — perhaps 
by old fellows that would not 
work and were driven out of the 


The Deadwaters is a natural pond two miles 
in length, with an average width of half a dozen, 
rods — a perfect place for beavers. It lies 
between low banks in a flat, broad valley that 
is covered with an unbroken carpet of moss 
and a thick growth of scrubby " cat " spruce. 
Under the blackened roots of a tree that stood 
at the water's edge, where the bank was but 
little higher than the water's surface, a dark 
opening, partly under water, drew my attention 
one day as I was with much exertion making 
my way down the Deadwaters on a small raft. 
The bank was much worn away at the water's 
edge, as if an otter frequented the place. Curi- 
osity led me ashore. About fifteen feet from 
the water grew a large tree at the side of 
a slight elevation. Three or four weather- 
bleached sticks as large as one's wrist lay upon 
the summit of the mound. Paths less than a 
foot wide led from the water's edge, and were 
lost among the trees. I began digging a hole 
into the soft earth at the foot of the tree. 

A cavity was soon brought to view. It proved 
to be a nearly circular room, three feet across 



community. The accompanying diagram shows 
a section of a " bank " beaver's abode on the 
Deadwaters of the Serpentine River. 

and two feet high, hollowed out beneath the 
arched roots of the tree. Toward the water a 
large opening extended downward. I pushed 
my head well into the hole I had made. A glim- 
mer of daylight could be discerned at the end 
of the low passageway. Getting accustomed 
to the darkness, there appeared to be a chamber 
quite smooth on the bottom, four feet across- 
and over a foot high. Near at hand a steel 
trap lay on the floor. It proved, taken to the 
daylight, to be an old rusted beaver-trap at- 
tached by a rusty chain to a water-soaked stake, 

•8 9 3] 



apparently many years old. This 
hole had been a beaver's house. The 
trap had been set at the door. A 
beaver had been caught, perhaps 
by the toes, had dragged the trap 
inside, and then pulled loose. The 
chamber at the end had been the 
living-room. The larger room had 
been the food-chamber, where was 
kept its stock of food wood. 
The water being low in the 
stream, the floor of the pas- 
sageway was barely covered, 


but with two feet 
more of water its 
occupant would 
still have been 
high and dry in 
the little room. 

There was no- 
thing in the ap- 
pearance of the 

ground above to indicate the usual house of 
a beaver except those sticks. The guileless 
beaver evidently did not know when to leave 
well enough alone, for by putting those sticks 
there, true to its instinct, it plainly said, " Here 
is a beaver's house." 

A mile away, on the same Deadwaters, was 
a more conspicuous object. About fifty yards 
from shore, where the pond was widest, among 
the oval leaves of the lilies that crowded the 
surface of the water, rose a large mound. The 
pond was not so deep there but that the lilies 
could reach the upper air with their yellow 
stems; and from an elevation that just missed 
being an island, the mound rose upon a base of 
twelve feet each way. The foundation was 
nothing but a pile of sticks, most of them as 

large as one's wrist, and peeled and weather- 
worn ; but the body of the structure looked 
like a pile of dirt — earth and fine vegetable 
matter — well covered with peeled sticks of 
considerable age. When it was first discovered 
and the drawing of it made, there lay upon the 
summit two short twigs of alder whereon the 
leaves were turning brown. 

I began digging into the beaver's house. The 
roof was an almost inextricable mass of sticks 
lying in all directions with earth packed solidly 
around them. It was not desired to remove 
the whole pile bodily (though that might have 
been easier), so it was only by the hardest 
muscular exertion, breaking out stick after 


stick through more than a foot of the firm 
and compact roof, that the inside of the house 
was reached. 

What a reeking, soggy hole the rays of the 
sun lighted up ! It was circular in form and 
three feet across the floor, which was slightly 
hollow in the middle. The walls rose six inches. 
Sticks about an inch thick were laid around in 
building, one upon top of another, like inter- 
locked fingers. Though not woven, in the 

6 I 2 



sense of the sticks being bent around, neverthe- 
less the surprising smoothness of the wall, to- 
gether with the even manner in which the sticks 
had been arranged, suggested the inside of a 

Spaces between the sticks were filled in with 

that so long as we were there the occupant 
failed to appear. 

As long as warm weather lasts, the beaver 
lives an easy life, as this one did, disturbed 
only by the ungainly moose that wades out and 
shares his crop of lily-stems. But in a country 


black mud, and whenever the end of a stick had 
protruded, it had been gnawed off even with the 
wall. Then the sides were rapidly drawn in- 
ward, and ended in a low domed roof about 
two feet high. At one side of the room, which 
was only a few inches above the water, a pas- 
sageway led downward and outward, being 
the only entrance. A strong odor of beaver 
filled the room. The occupant had been sitting 
in the middle of the floor eating the pulpy lily- 

After skilfully stripping off their yellow skins, 
he gathered the shreds into wads which he 
tucked back out of the way. There was also a 
freshly cut alder stick, about two feet long, from 
which every twig had been clipped and part of 
the bark gnawed off. It evidently had been cut 
to eat, but the sourish lily-stems tasted better, 
so it was discarded. It is not necessary to say 

where the winters are severe and the snow piles 
up six to nine feet on a level, he must prepare 
for the future. 

A family of beavers, consisting, perhaps, of a 
pair of old ones and their children, have eaten 
everything in the way of bark that can be eaten, 
and must change their quarters. Selecting a 
stream where food is abundant, they will build 
a dam — for a ready-made pond like the one 
just described is, of course, not to be found 
every day. 

On these northern brooks, alders spring up 
wherever they find a foothold, often quite chok- 
ing the stream. Usually mere bushes, they 
sometimes attain a height of twenty feet and a 
diameter of six inches, and take entire posses- 
sion. Such places a beaver loves, for they 
furnish an abundant building material, and help 
to hold their dams in place. At the point 

l8 9 3-] 



chosen for the dam, sticks are cut of varying 
size and laid in the brook, butts pointing down- 
stream. Others are laid on top of these, not 
always parallel, but in every direction, yet mod- 
erately smooth on the lower side. Dirt, sticks, 
and stones are piled on top, then more sticks, 
until there rises an irregular, narrow pile of 
brush and dirt, the whole thoroughly matted 

Groups of alders standing in midstream are 
taken in whenever it is possible, and to ob- 
tain the support of these, a dam may change its 
direction several times. Freshets cannot tear 
them away. As the dam grows higher, the 
water begins to flow around the ends. So the 
dam is added to, bit by bit, until even in a 

occupied by beavers. It must have been 
built many years. It was about three feet 
high, and built around clumps of giant alders 
growing in the bed of the brook. Sediment 
and fine driftwood had in time gathered upon 
it, and a rank growth of weeds and grass had 
taken possession of the crest. Thus even a new 
dam is soon obscured, and the alders grow so 
thickly about it that usually there is little to be 
seen of any beaver-dam. Photographs rarely 
show anything of the structure. 

Upon an elevation in such a pond, just cov- 
ered by the water, the beavers build their house, 
after the manner of the one just described, ex- 
cept, however, that the usual house, when newly 
built and covered with fresh-cut limbs, resem- 


small brook it may reach a length of three or 
four hundred feet, — in some places a slight 
ridge that one would scarcely notice, in others 
a pretentious structure, two or three, and some- 
times five or six, feet high, over which the water 
trickles. 4 

The picture on page 612 shows a dam recently 

bles more a heap of brushwood. But in the case 
of the house on the Deadwaters, mud was a 
building material more plentiful than alders. A 
family apartment, accommodating five or six, 
may be six or seven feet across the floor, or 
" shelf," while the walls are built up to the 
height of a foot. Poles (some of which are as 




large as one's wrist), laid slantingly upward and 
covered with earth, and other sticks to a thick- 
ness of over a foot, compose the roof of the 
chamber, which is three or four feet from floor 
to ceiling. Between the sticks at the peak is 
space for ventilation. Each member of the 

family owns a bed, which it lines warmly with 
grass or shreds of poplar wood split as fine 
as if for basket-work. There are several exits 
under water for additional safety. Another 
purpose of the pond becomes apparent. The 
bed of a beaver-pond is shown in the picture 
on page 613. The dam, a long, grass-grown 
ridge, three feet high in the middle, was de- 
stroyed a few years ago, and now only a tiny 
stream of water courses through the black, 
muddy bottom. Fir-trees, killed by the rising 
water when the pond first was made, stand with 
gray, mossy limbs and broken tops, like specters 
against the dark background of the evergreen 
woods. Some have fallen prostrate into the 

pond, and beavers have trimmed off the limbs 
so that their motions under water might not be 
impeded. But in the middle of the pond is a 
fan-shaped pile of brush, — all the butts point- 
ing toward the entrance of the house. There 
is a wagon-load of it — the store of winter's 
food, covered with water and ice before the 
pond was drained. Every stick had been cut 
in the surrounding woods and dragged sepa- 
rately to that place. Paths, a little less than a 
foot in width, lead back a distance of a quarter 
of a mile from the stream. These paths are 
found in every beaver settlement. The birches 
and whitewoods are separated from the resinous 
evergreens, and dragged along these little roads. 
Saplings growing in the way are chopped off 
close to the ground. In one place where a 
large pine log lay across their hauling road, a 
section of solid wood a foot wide and six inches 
deep was cut out. Indeed, when large logs fall 
across their ponds, an entire section is some- 
times removed for the passage of their bodies. 

This pond was the most important in that 
whole settlement, — one of a series of ten or 
twelve, — occupied before its destruction by a 
very large family of beavers. 

At the head of the big pond, a short dam, 
backing .the water three or four rods, was 
thrown across the stream. Above was a third 
dam. Neither contained houses — they were 
for storage, and belonged to the family living 
below. But at the head of the last pond was 
a large dam, in which there was a house, and 
above that were several smaller ponds. In the 
other direction, below the first big pond, there 
were five more, one containing a house. Thus 
there was made a continuous deep waterway on 
a brook that otherwise could not sustain a six- 
inch trout in comfort. 

Only four years ago this had been a great, 
flourishing community. A white man found it 
first, and of course talked of it. At his heels 
came Indians, who captured every beaver but 
two, and left scarcely a dam undestroyed. 
Two years afterward the two that had es- 
caped shared the fate of their kindred. Such 
is everywhere the story of the beaver. Soon 
there will be none left. 

In winter, secure in his thick- walled house 
and with a storehouse of food locked beneath 

i%3l THE BEAVER'S HOME. 615 

the ice, the beaver lives at ease. But at every houses from the animal heat within. So, while 

thaw he comes forth and works, in sunshine the world outside is cold and cheerless, the 

and rain, until the cold drives him back. The beaver is warm and comfortable in his dark 

snow is said to melt upon the tops of their home under the snow. 


A vain little, plain little woman each day 

Would don her big theater hat, 
And then, while she looked at the glass, she would say 
"Why, I can't be as pretty as that!" 


By John Z. Rogers. 

sun had set 
half an hour 
before, and the 
deep, heavy twi- 
light of an October even- 
ing had settled over Moose 

According to his custom when his father was 
away fishing, Frank Pinkham, the only son of 
the lighthouse-keeper, had lighted the lamps, 
made the lighthouse tidy, and brought in the 
wood and water from the shed; then he had 
walked to the seaward side of the little island, 
and seated himself on the rocks. He did not 
notice the schooners sailing up and down the 
coast, the larger vessels farther out at sea, nor 
the huge waves that came rolling in and broke 
into spray against the rocks, casting their foam 
high in the air. He was deep in thought. 

Moose Island was two miles from the main- 
land, six from the nearest post- or telegraph- 
office, and a score from a town of any size. 
Frank had passed the whole of his fifteen years 
within the shadow of the tall lighthouse tower. 
He attended school every day when the weather 
permitted, rowing or sailing to the shore, and 
then walking three miles to the district school- 
house. When not in school, he " did the 
chores" about the island, — cleaned the lamps, 
milked the cow, and assisted his father in 
fishing. For amusement, Frank shot plover 
and peep along the shore in summer, and 
black ducks in the fall ; while in the winter he 
devoted his spare time to reading eagerly the 
meager literature that found its way to the 
lighthouse island. 

He was large for his age, and unusually 
bright and active. He stood at the head of 
his class, and had learned about all his teacher 
could teach him. He was also a good wing- 
shot, and few men could excel him in sailing 

a whale-boat, or in baiting or under-running 
a trawl-net. For some time he had been tired 
of the life of a light-keeper, and he shrank 
from the prospect of succeeding his father and 
spending his life in such uneventful solitude. 
His ambition was to go to the city and there 
begin a business career, so that in a few years 
he could fill a good position, and take his 
father, mother, and sister Mary to live with 
him. What he was fitted for, he did not really 
know ; but he felt sure he could succeed at 

In the preceding June, his father had re- 
ceived a letter from a Mr. Matthews who 
wished to board at the lighthouse in August ; 
and, although the keeper had never taken 
boarders, in this case he made an exception to 
his rule. The gentleman wrote that he wished 
to fish, shoot, and rough it generally, and was 
not particular about his board, provided he had 
plenty of fish and milk and eggs. 

So Mr. Matthews came down to Moose 
Island, and passed a month, greatly to the 
satisfaction of the family. He was a quiet, 
unassuming gentleman, and he possessed a fund 
of information and good nature that made him 
a very interesting talker. 

Mr. Matthews and Frank soon became con- 
stant companions, and passed the long summer 
days in company. They sailed up and down 
the coast, shot plover and peep, and caught 
haddock, cod, and flounders. They usually 
spent all day away from the island, taking 
luncheon with them. They made their dinner 
of fish, clams, and lobsters, with ears of corn 
cooked over a fire of driftwood. Dinner over, 
they would lie on the rocks or grass, and pass 
the time in quiet talk till the sun began to near 
the horizon. Then they would return to their 
little craft, hoist the sail, and lay their homeward 
course for Moose Island. 



Mr. Matthews soon perceived that Frank 
had not only a strong desire to better his posi- 
tion in life, but also a keener intellect and judg- 
ment than would be found in most boys with 
no greater advantages. He was the editor of a 
western newspaper; and Frank was never so 
happy as when listening to stories of newspaper 
life, and descriptions of how the great daily 
papers are made. His friend explained to him 
every detail of the business — how the news was 
gathered from all parts of the world, the portion 
the reporters and correspondents obtained, and 
how those enterprising helpers were paid for it 
according to its "exclusiveness," its quality, and 
the work and ingenuity involved in securing it. 

" While a finished education is very desirable, 
it is not really necessary," Mr. Matthews re- 
plied. '• The things necessary are wide-open 
eyes and ears, a good common-school educa- 
tion, a strong constitution, and lots of ambi- 
tion and energy. You might make a good 
reporter, Frank ; and if you lived in a larger 
place you might soon commence as a corre- 
spondent. There is not much news here; but 
if a ship should come ashore, a daily would be 
glad to pay you for a good telegraphic account 
of the wreck." 

These remarks made a deep impression upon 
Frank. Mentally resolving to be a reporter 
some time, he asked so many questions about 



V f\ 


1^ ffi 


One evening as they were sitting before the newspaper work during the editor's visit, that 

fire in the lighthouse cottage, Frank remarked had their boarder been less patient and obliging, 

in a questioning way: "I suppose a fellow must he would have tired of answering them all. 
be well educated in order to start as a reporter ? " At the expiration of Mr. Matthews's vacation, 




Frank drove him to the nearest railway sta- 
tion. Mr. Matthews's last remark was : 

" Well, Frank, keep on studying, and don't 
be discouraged. You will be a reporter one 
of these days ! " 

'• Good luck, Mr. Matthews ! Come again," 
Frank answered. Then he drove slowly home- 
ward, resolving that his friend's parting words 
should come true. 

From this time, Frank lived in the future and 
in the hope of being a newspaper man. He was 
on the free list of Mr. Matthews's paper, and 
ever}' evening he not only read it carefully, 
but studied its contents and its make-up. 

At night, after his work was done, he would 
go to the edge of the island, and perching him- 
self on the rocks, would remain there dreaming 
until his father returned from fishing. 

One evening he sat longer than usual, as his 
father was late in returning. Frank was begin- 
ning to feel anxious ; for the wind, which had 
been blowing fresh all day, was steadily increas- 
ing, and there were signs of an approaching 
northeast gale. But in a little while he saw 
the " Black Bird's " lights as she rounded the 
point, and in a few minutes he had jumped 
aboard. He helped his father to take in the 
sails, and make things snug for the night. 

As they returned to the house, Mr. Pinkham 
said : " If I 'm not mistaken, we '11 have the 
heaviest nor'easter to-night and to-morrow I 
ever saw at this time of the year." 

The prediction proved to be correct, and in 
a few hours the storm began. It shook the 
lighthouse till the tower seemed about to 
topple over, and the great waves came break- 
ing upon the boulders with a noise like thunder. 
Their spray was cast against the house, though 
it was fully a hundred feet back from the rocks. 

The next morning the storm was still at its 
height, but it had already accomplished its 
work — about a mile and a half from the island, 
a large ship was fast aground on the Southern 

At noon the weather cleared a little, the 
storm began to abate, and the wreck could 
easily be made out. The ship, a large vessel 
of fully two thousand tons, rested on an even 
keel, but was wedged tightly between great 
jagged rocks that were grinding their way 

through her timbers. She had evidently been 
through a terrible night. Her mizzenmast was 
gone, all her boats had been washed away, 
and the crew were just beginning to venture 
from the rigging, where they had lashed them- 
selves to prevent being swept away by the 

As Frank stood looking at the wreck, the re- 
mark that Mr. Matthews had made returned to 
his mind — "There is not much news here; 
but if a ship should come ashore, a daily would 
be glad to pay you for a good telegraphic 
account of the wreck." 

Here was a chance to make a beginning as a 
reporter — a chance to which he had been look- 
ing forward, believing that it would not present 
itself for years. 

He rushed excitedly to the boats, and pushing 
a dory down the shelving beach, never thinking 
to ask permission or even to leave word where he 
was going, jumped in and rowed for the wreck. 
It was hard pulling against the heavy wind, 
and through the rough water. His arms ached 
as they had never ached before ; but he tugged 
at the oars, seeming at times to make scarcely 
any progress. 

An hour later, while gazing through his glass 
at the wreck, his father was amazed to see 
Frank and the dory. The tiny boat was then 
bobbing up and down like a cork, about half 
a mile from the wreck. What could have 
possessed him that he should undertake so dan- 
gerous a trip — and why had he not asked 
permission ? It was not like him to do such a 
thing. His father watched him through the 
glass, and groaned as the dory disappeared be- 
hind a wave and was lost to view for several 

He saw Frank approach the ship, the dory 
now at the crest of a wave on a level with her 
deck, and then fifteen feet below in a hollow. 
How can he board her ? A ladder is thrown 
over the side ; he stands in his dory, the boat is 
raised by a wave, and Frank throws the painter 
aboard. As he nears the ladder, he springs for 
it, catches it, and climbs safely to the deck! 

If Captain Connelton, of the good ship 
" Princess Annie," was surprised to see a mere 
boy alight on his deck after that perilous feat, 
he was much more surprised at the business- 

is 93 .: 



like rapidity with which questions were asked 
regarding the port from which the Princess 
Annie had sailed, where she was bound, who 
owned her, what was her value, her cargo, and 
so on. His catechism completed, Frank started 
at once to return, offering to take with him a 
sailor who could bring back the other dory, 
and be ready to take the sailors ashore as soon 
as the sea went down. 

The return trip was quickly made ; but not 
till Frank had arrived at the island, and was 
greeted as one who had had a narrow escape 
from death, did he realize the danger of his trip. 

It was then important to reach the telegraph- 
office as soon as possible. To this trip his father 
had no objections, for the row to the mainland 
was through comparatively sheltered water, and 
besides, the wind was rapidly subsiding. Yet it 
was a hard row, and a still harder walk, that 
Frank had before him, and he was a very tired 
boy as he entered the telegraph-office, late in 
the afternoon. The operator was obliging, as 
most operators are, and he also knew some- 
thing of newspaper correspondence. In a few 
minutes this message had been sent to the 
managing editor of one of the great dailies: 

Full account wreck of big ship. Do you want it? 

In half an hour the answer came clicking 
over the wires: 

Rush one thousand words of wreck. 

The next morning that managing editor's 
paper was the only one having the news, — and 
so it gained what newspaper men call a " scoop " 
over its rivals, who knew nothing of the details 
of the wreck, by printing a long account of 
how the Princess Annie, owned in New York, 
from Hong Kong and for Portland, with a 
cargo of tea, rags, bamboo, and pottery, worth 
half a million dollars, had gone ashore the day 
before on the Southern Reefs near Moose 
Island, and would probably break up within 
twenty-four hours and be a total loss. 

The last portion of the Princess Annie had 
disappeared the next day; and at the request 
of the editor Frank sent another despatch 
announcing the fact. 

A week later he received a check for a goodly 

Of course, Frank Pinkham succeeded in his 
desire to become a newspaper man. No boy 
having his determination could have failed. He 
is now city editor upon the daily to which 
he sent that first despatch from Moose Island. 


By E. W. Sturdy, Lieutenant-commander, U. S. N. 

the interesting article, 
" Learning to be Weath- 
er Prophets," which ap- 
peared in St. Nicholas 
last October, the young 
people found a very clear 
account of the method 
by which the Weather 
Bureau at Washington 
collects and sends throughout the country much 
valuable information about the weather. 

To the people who live on shore the Weather 

Map is, of course, a great boon, and their in- 
terests are often greatly served by such season- 
able knowledge. 

But there is another class of men — men who 
spend most of their lives on the ocean, and they 
need a report which, though not unlike that 
furnished for the dwellers on land, is yet of a 
different nature. 

The Weather Bureau in its published charts 
comes down to the sea. Then the Hydro- 
graphic Office of the Navy takes up the work, 
and, for the benefit of the navigators of the 



Atlantic Ocean, collects regularly and system- 
atically facts which, collected in what is known 
as the North Atlantic Pilot Chart, give the sea- 
faring men one of the most valued publications 
issued by any nation on earth. In truth, there 
is no similar work that can be in any way 
compared with it : none so much sought for, 
none which receives such willing aid from the 
masters of vessels afloat. To the Division of 
Marine Meteorology in the Hydrographic Office 
come regular reports from more than 2500 
vessels of every nation. There is not a flag 
afloat from whose representatives records are not 
received. Many foreign men-of-war give their 
assistance, and this would not usually be ac- 
corded unless the results were both useful and 
accurate. To all vessels forms and envelops 
are furnished free of charge, and every aid is 
given to render as light as possible the task 
which they undertake. On these meteorological 
forms, as they are called, are recorded by the 
observers the direction and the force of winds, 
the figures shown by barometer, thermometer, 
and so on, as they are each day at noon. The 
date and place of running into and leaving 
fog ; the exact- locality of icebergs or floating 
ice seen during the voyage ; every wreck, every 
buoy adrift, and all unusual things floating in 
the water which might injure a vessel striking 
them, are also located as accurately as possible. 
In the event of unusually severe storms, like the 
cyclones of which you have all heard, records 
are made on special forms furnished. If the 
vessel's commander tries to lessen the danger 
from waves by the use of oil on the water, — a 
means of safety which is much encouraged, — his 
experience is recorded on a form especially 
printed for that purpose. 

Finally, in order to add to the knowledge 
of ocean currents, there are forms which are 
called " bottle papers." On these little papers 
an invitation, in six languages, is extended to the 
masters of vessels to enter occasionally upon 
the proper lines of the form the name of the 
vessel and her captain, the date, and the ship's 
position ; and then to seal the paper in a bottle 
and cast it into the sea. In other lines of 
this form a request is made, in the same six 
languages, that the finder will write clearly the 
exact place where, and date when, any bottle 

was picked up, and by whom, and then forward 
it to the Hydrographic Office at Washington, 
or to any of our consulates abroad. These 
bottles, of course, drift in the ocean currents. 
Some are picked up soon after they are thrown 
overboard, others drift for more than a year 
before being recovered. They furnish valuable 
records for more correctly fixing the currents 
already known. 

Day after day these reports are received bv 
the meteorological office ; each one is acknow- 
ledged promptly, and then given to the staff of 
workers known as nautical experts. 

The result of their labor is that on the last 
day of every month is issued a chart on which 
appears all the information received during the 
month that has gone. The chart, then, contains 
a review of the past month, and a forecast for 
the month that is to follow. 

The prevailing winds to be expected, and 
their strength, as foretold by men of many years 
of experience, are also given for the month to 
come. The various sailing-routes best adapted 
for that month are mapped out, as well as the 
steamship routes adopted by the principal trans- 
atlantic steamship companies. Every floating 
wreck, with its position when last reported ; 
each iceberg in its place as met with during 
the preceding month, and the fog-banks, de- 
termined in the same way, are fixed and 
shown by marks. Besides all this, the latest 
charts that have been issued by the office, and 
the last " Notices to Mariners," are mentioned. 
In the upper left-hand corner is either a little 
chart prepared in addition on some subject of 
timely interest, or some further remarks about 
things upon the great chart itself. 

On every chart is printed information regard- 
ing the storm signals of the United States coast, 
and directions to be followed in the event of 
being caught in hurricanes. 

Nor is this all. So much information is gener- 
ally at hand which is sure to be useful to the 
mariners, that very often a supplement is pub- 
lished to accompany the chart proper. 

Every month 3500 of these charts are printed 
and sent out to the branch offices and to indi- 
viduals. These branch offices are at Boston, 
New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Norfolk, 
Savannah, New Orleans, San Francisco, and 

p it^ot. 



Portland, Oregon. Each is supplied with an 
outfit of charts, books of sailing-directions, and 
so forth, and to them the masters of vessels are 
invited to bring instruments for correction; here 
they may seek information, which is gladly 
furnished them without charge, and here they 
obtain free copies of the pilot charts. To the 

so that they may obtain the latest news before 
they sail. 

The value of the work done by the Hydro- 
graphic Office in this way is again and again 
learned from the commanding officers both of 
" ocean greyhounds " and of old-time sailing 
vessels. In foreign periodicals unstinted praise 

Jlfe* York 



This chart shows clearly two records of drifting wrecks — the bark " Vincenzo Perrotta," and the schooner " Wyer G. Sargent." Fol- 
lowing the track of the schooner, we see that she was wrecked east of Cape Hatteras, March 31, 1891, and the wreck, after being from time to 
time reported, as shown by the dots and dates, was last seen, nearly in mid-ocean, on December 6, 1892 — one year and eight months 
later. The other wreck, tbe bark, seems to have been afloat a year and four months. It will be noticed that each vessel more than once 
doubled on its track. 

Wednesday and Saturday steamers leaving New 
York and Boston especial attention is given. The 
pilot charts are sent to them by special delivery, 
when necessary, and their messengers wait at 
the branch offices until the last possible moment 

and admiration are awarded to the American 
energy which has developed so striking an enter- 
prise, and has brought it to so successful an issue. 
Even a brief study of the charts will be interest- 
ing and instructive to St. Nicholas readers. 



fiPPLE of 

By Dinah Sharpe. 

In Arabia, many years ago, there dwelt a 
mare called Ansha, renowned throughout the 
length and breadth of the desert for her sur- 
passing beauty, her unrivaled speed, and her 
marvelous endurance. Khan AH was her mas- 
ter, and he loved her, and was proud of her 
high repute; and she loved Khan Ali well, and 
was proud to do his bidding. Many coveted 
her, but all the gold yet offered in all the land 
had not tempted Khan Ali to part with his 
treasure. His coffers swelled with many wagers 
won, for at a word or sign from her master, 
Ansha showed her paces and won all races 
against the best and fleetest of Arabia's horses, 
until she came to be called "The Apple of 
Arabia's Eye." 

One day to Khan Ali came word from the 
Governor of Trebizond, that a rich Count 
from a far country had arrived for the sole 
purpose of seeing, and perhaps of buying, the 
beautiful mare Ansha. The Count was waiting 
at the Governor's house for her and her master. 
For many leagues by night and by day across the 
burning desert and through the burning sands 
flew Ansha, bearing her beloved master to an- 
swer the Governor's commands. They trav- 
eled with little rest, and arrived very worn and 
weary, so that when Khan Ali had alighted 
Ansha drew her four feet together under her, 

after the peculiar manner of Arabian 
horses, her head drooped over, and 
her little ears, so sharp and pointed 
when erect, seemed to unfold, and fell 
down long, like the ears of an ass. 
And thus she fell asleep. Khan Ali also stood 
to rest himself, and shaking from the folds of 
his burnoose the sand of the desert, and its fine 
impalpable dust, with a sigh of relief he drew 
forth his pipe, and proceeded to light it. Soon 
he felt the ground tremble under him, and lift- 
ing his eyes, saw a line of horsemen approach- 
ing. Passing through the gate which gave 
them entrance to the inclosure appointed for 
the rendezvous, they beheld the travel-stained 
Arabian and the sleeping mare, and said to 
Khan Ali: 

"We have come to see Ansha, the famed 
'Apple of Arabia's Eye.'" 

With salaams and an indicating gesture, 
Khan Ali said: 

" Do you wish to try her speed?" 

"What! — now ! — when she is so nearly dead 
with fatigue?" 

"Yes, Effendi, now. You see that tree, a 
mile or so distant ? I will give you a fair start 
and we shall then see who will reach it first." 

Being freshly mounted, they assented with 
smiling disdain to so easy a race and so sure a 
victory, and started their horses on a dead run. 
Before they had gone one quarter the distance, 
the mare passed them with easy strides ; and 
as they began the last quarter of the distance, 
they looked far ahead. There sat the Arab 




on the motionless mare, under the appointed 
tree, coolly filling his pipe, — both man and 
mare in an attitude of easy waiting. Together, 
they all returned to the rendezvous; the Count 
who had come to buy determined on the pur- 
chase, and keeping close to Khan Ali, said : 

" You are willing to sell this mare? " 

" Yes, Effendi." 

"How much do you want for her?" 

" As much gold as a man can lift ! " 

A strong bag was brought, and the servants of 
the Count were beckoned to approach. They 
began to empty their saddle-bags, and the gold 
coins were poured, clinking and tinkling with a 
merry sound, into the bag held open to receive 
them. When it was nearly full, the Arab lifted it, 
but it came off the ground too easily. Shaking 
his head with dissatisfaction, he again opened 
the bag, and held it toward them. More gold 
was piled into its capacious mouth, and now, 
with all the Arab's strength, he could barely lift 
it from the ground — so he was satisfied. Then 
the Governor of Trebizond said to the Arab : 

" Khan Ali, you give this mare, Ansha, in 
exchange for this bag of gold, to the Count ? " 

" By the beard of Mahomet ! I do vow that 
I give my mare, Ansha, in exchange for this 
bag of gold, to the Count ! " Repeating " By 
the beard of Mahomet " three times, he picked 
up the bag, and staggering under its weight, 
walked off. The gate clicked to behind him, 
and the mare standing quietly, held by the 
Count's groom, lifted her head high at the 
sound. With deepest interest and admiration, 
the group of men surrounded her, commenting 
upon her extraordinary beauty — for now she 
stood erect, with her ears pointed forward and 
her nostrils quivering. Suddenly a sharp, shrill 
whistle was heard, when, in the twinkling of an 
eye, the mare had wrenched her head loose from 
the hand that held her, had leaped the fence, 
and with incredible speed was beside her 
master before any one could reach the gate. 
In a moment Khan Ali mounted and was flying 
on Ansha's back, with the bag of gold resting 
on his saddle-bow; in another, only a cloud of 
dust remained to indicate the direction of their 
sudden disappearance. Consternation reigned 
among the group so unceremoniously left be- 
hind; and threats deep and dire followed the 

Arab thief who had so shamefully outwitted 
them. Then said the Governor of Trebizond: 

" How many pounds of gold did Khan Ali 

" At least one hundred and fifty pounds were 
in that bag." 

" Then Khan Ali carried away a large sum 
of money ? " 

The Count, in reply, named a sum equal to 
some $45,000 in American money. 

"Well, Count, you shall have the mare or 
the gold. I promise that the Arab shall return. 
You have all heard him swear ' By the beard of 
Mahomet ' three times ? " 

" Yes, Most Wise, we heard him swear it three 

" He shall return to you here ; but you must 
wait, and I will gladly be your host until he 
comes. Will you accept this arrangement ? " 

"With great pleasure, your Excellency." 

They waited. A week passed — two weeks — 
three weeks had dragged by their weary length, 
lightened only by such diversions as the kindly 
Governor could command. At last, at the end 
of the fourth week, came meekly walking into the 
courtyard, Khan Ali, leading a mule. Beside 
him was the famous mare, Ansha, magnificently 
caparisoned. Gold lace was about her neck, 
and a bridle of exquisite workmanship adorned 
her head. The saddle-cloth was of finest em- 
broidery, and the saddle a marvel of skill, 
while the stirrups were finely carved, and all 
the trappings gleamed with jewels and golden 
fringe. The unhappy Khan Ali, covered with 
dust, abject and conscience-stricken, had re- 
turned, and begged to see the Count. The 
sudden appearance of the strange trio was soon 
noised about, and the Governor and his guests 
hastened to the courtyard. Khan Ali, lifting 
Ansha's bridle-rein, placed it in the hands of the 
Count, and with a cry for mercy and pardon, 
besought him to take the mare. The Count, 
mindful of his late experience, promptly led 
Ansha to the stable, and, locking the door, put 
the key in his pocket. Returning, he questioned 
the repentant Arab ; and Khan AH, with many 
tears and sighs, related how the wretched gold so 
dishonestly obtained had brought him only keen- 
est misery. The story of the theft spread far 
and wide, and preceded him everywhere. All 




distrusted the man who broke his promise, solemn vow ? He would thank the Count to 

He could make no trades, he could neither take his pet — his blessing — and he had cov- 

buy nor sell; his wife and children, not- ered her with gorgeous trappings. He had 

withstanding the great heap of gold the good heard that the Count loved horses, and was 

Count had given him, were starving. Mahomet good to them, and — "Oh! would the Count 

was angry, for had he not broken his most be kind to his Ansha ? " 
Vol. XX. — 40. 



Then suddenly turning, and no longer seeing 
the mare, he rent his burnoose, he tore his hair, 
and, flinging himself on the ground, face down- 
ward, gave utterance to his heartrending grief. 
In vain did the group of bystanders try to 
comfort him. In vain they showed him the 
good horse the Count had left for him to ride 
home, instead of the mule; he still moaned, and 
would not be comforted. And when, two hours 

later, the little procession of horsemen filed 
past him and he saw for the last time his be- 
loved Ansha, and heard her farewell whinny, 
his lamentations redoubled. They were the 
last sounds that reached the ears of the de- 
parting cavalcade. 

Thus came the famous Arabian mare into 
Europe, and her descendants are among the 
most noted horses on European soil. 



Selections by Florence Waiters Snedeker. 

In the days of Queen Bess lived Richard Hakluyt, to whom England was " more indebted 
for its American possessions than to any man of that age." 

Not that he was statesman, soldier, or even sailor. He was a preacher. He never saw the 
marvelous New World. But it was the passion of his life. He incited merchants and noble- 
men to expeditions and "plantings." He knew the " chiefest captains . . . and best mariners" 
of England, " and he published their reports, together with many other narratives, letters, trans- 
lations, and treatises, in the great volume of his Voyages." 

The voyages were written by mariners and captains, merchants and gentlemen, mechanics 
and knights. They tell of expeditions undertaken for greed of gold, for thirst of adventure, 
for hatred of Spain, for love of England, for the glory of God. They give pictures of those 
wonderful times, from Queen Elizabeth waving Frobisher farewell, to poor Job Hortop, gunner, 
sitting down in his old age to write the woeful tale of his labors and troubles. 

Hakluyt's " Voyages " have been called " the great prose epic of the English nation." Charles 
Kingsley's "Westward Ho!" is largely drawn from them, and may well be read in connection 
with them for understanding of the times. 

Sir Walter Raleigh, brilliant courtier and soldier as he was, was mariner as well. The 
New World filled his imagination, and seemed to promise him adventure, gold, and fame. He 
sent thither various expeditions. With several he went in person, notably in the romantic 
search for the land of gold. 

His first expedition was sent in 1584 — two barks under Philip Armadas and Arthur Barlow. 
One of these captains sent to Sir Walter the following glowing account of the voyage. 


The twenty-seventh day of April, 1584, we God for our safe arrival thither, we manned our 

departed the west of England, with two barks boat, and went to take possession in the name 

well furnished with men and victuals. of the Queen's most excellent majesty. 

The tenth of May we arrived at the Canaries, Which, being performed, we viewed the land 

and the tenth of June we were fallen in with about us, being very sandy and low toward the 

the islands of the West Indies. At which water's side; but so full of grapes, as that the 

islands we found the air unwholesome, and our very beating and surge of the sea overflowed 

men grew ill; so, having refreshed ourselves, with them ; of which we found plenty of vines, 

with sweet water and fresh victual, we departed, both on the sand and on the green hills, in the 

The second of July, we smelt so sweet and plains, as well on every little shrub, as also 

so strong a smell, as if we had been in some climbing towards the top of high cedars, 

delicate garden abounding with all kind of We passed from the seaside towards the tops 

odoriferous flowers ; by which we were assured of those hills next adjoining, and from thence 

that the land could not be far distant, And, we beheld the sea on both sides. This land we 

keeping good watch, and bearing but slack sail, found to be but an island of twenty miles long, 

we arrived upon the coast. We sailed along a and not above six miles broad. We beheld the 

hundred and twenty English miles before we valleys replenished with goodly cedar trees ; 

could find any entrance, or river issuing into the and, having discharged our harquebus shot, 

sea. The first that appeared unto us we entered, such a flock of cranes, the most part white, 

though not without some difficulty, and cast arose under us, with such a cry, and many 

anchor about three harquebus shot within the echoes, as if an army of men had shouted all 

haven's mouth. And, after thanks given to together. 





This island had many goodly woods full of 
deer, conies, hares and fowl ; even in die midst 
of summer, in incredible abundance. The 
woods are not barren and fruitless, but the 

him a shirt, a hat, and some other things ; and 
made him taste of our wine and our meat, 
which he liked very well. And, having viewed 
both barks, he departed. 


highest and reddest cedars of the world ; pines, 
cypress, sassafras, the tree that beareth the 
rind of black cinnamon, of which Master Win- 
ter brought from the straits of Magellan; and 
many others of excellent smell and quality. 

We remained two whole days before we saw 
any people of the country. 

The third day we espied one small boat 
rowing towards us, having in it three people. 
This boat came to the island side, four har- 
quebus shot from our ship ; and there two of 
the people remaining, the third came along the 
shoreside towards us. 

Then the master of the " Admiral," Simon 
Ferdinando, and the captain, Philip Armadas, 
and myself and others rowed to the land. 
Whose coming this fellow attended, never mak- 
ing any show of fear or doubt. 

And, after he had spoken of many things not 
understood by us, we brought him, with his 
own good liking, aboard the ships; and gave 

The next day there came unto us divers 
boats, and in one of them the king's brother, 
accompanied with forty or fifty men ; very hand- 
some and goodly people, and in their behavior 
as mannerly and civil as any of Europe. His 
name was Granganimeo, and the king is called 
Wingina; the country now in honor of her maj- 
esty, Virginia. 

His servants spread a long mat on which he 
sat down; and, at the other end of the mat, four 
others of his company did the like. The rest 
of his men stood round about him, somewhat 
afar off. When we came to the shore to him 
with our weapons, he never moved from his 
place, nor never mistrusted any harm to be 
offered from us; but beckoned us to come and 
sit by him, which we performed. 

And being sat, he made all signs of joy and 
welcome, striking on his head and his breast, 
and afterward on ours, to show we were all one; 
smiling and making show, the best he could, of 

i8 93 J 



all love and familiarity. After he had made a 
long speech unto us, we presented him with 
divers things, which he received most joyfully 
and thankfully. None of the company durst 
speak one word all the time. Only the four 
which were at the other end spake one in the 
other's ear very softly. 

The king is greatly obeyed, and his brother 
and children reverenced. The king himself 
was, at our being there, sore wounded in a 
fight which he had with the king of the next 
country. By reason whereof, and for that he 
lay at the chief town of the country, six days' 
journey off, we saw him not at all. 

After we had presented his brother with such 
things as we thought he 
liked, we likewise gave 
somewhat to the others 
that sat with him on the 
mat. But he arose, and 
took all from them, and 
put it into his basket, 
making signs that all 
ought to be delivered 
unto him, and the rest 
were but his servants and 

A day or two after this, 
we fell to trading with 
them, exchanging some 
things that we had for va- 
rious kinds of pelts and 
skins. When we showed 
him our packet of mer- 
chandise, of all things 
that he saw, a bright tin 
dish most pleased him, 
which he presently took 
up, and clapt it before his 
breast, and after, made a 
hole in the brim thereof, 
and hung it about his 

neck, making signs that it would defend him 
against his enemy's arrows. We exchanged our 
tin dish for twenty skins, worth twenty crowns, 
and a copper kettle for fifty skins. 

They offered us good exchange for our 
hatchets, and axes, and for knives, and would 
have given anything for swords, but we would 
not part with any. 

After two or three days the king's brother 
came on board the ship, and brought his wife 
with him, his daughter, and two or three chil- 
dren. His wife was very well favored, of mean 
stature, and very bashful. She had on her back 
a long cloak of leather, with the fur side next 
to her body ; and before her a piece of the 
same. About her forehead she had a piece of 
white coral, and so had her husband. In her 
ears she had bracelets of pearls (whereof we 
delivered your worship a little bracelet). And 
those were of the bigness of good pease. The 
rest of her women, of the better sort, had pen- 
dants of copper hanging in either ear. And 
some of the children of the king's brother, and 
other noblemen, had five or six in either 
ear. He himself had upon his head a 
broad plate of gold or copper; for, 
being unpolished, we knew not 
what metal it should be; 
neither would he by any 
means suffer us to take 
it off his head. 
His apparel was 
as his wife's; 


only the women wear their hair long on both 
sides and the men only on one. They are 
of a color yellowish, and their hair black for 
the most part ; and yet we saw children that 
had very fine auburn and chestnut-colored 

After these women had been there, there 
came from all parts great store of people, bring- 




ing with them leather, coral, divers kinds of 
dyes, and exchanged with us. 

But when Granganimeo, the king's brother, 
was present none durst trade but himself, except 
such as wear red pieces of copper on their head, 
like himself. For that is the difference between 
noblemen and governors of countries, and the 
meanest sort. And we noted that no people in 
the world carry more respect to their king, 
nobles, and governors than these do. The 
king's brother's wife was followed with forty 
or fifty women always, and when she came into 
the ship she left them all on land saving her 
two daughters, and one or two more. The 
king's brother always kept this order : as many 
boats as he would come withal to the ships, so 
many fires would he make on the shore afar 
off; to the end we might understand with what 
company he approached. 

Their boats are made of one tree, either of 
pine or of pitch. They have no edged tools 
to make them. If they have any of these it 
seems they had them twenty years since out 
of a wreck of a Christian ship, whereof none 
of the people were saved; but only the ship 
or some part of her being cast upon the sand; 
out of whose sides they drew the nails and the 
spikes, and with those they made their best 

The manner of making their boats is thus: 
they burn down some great tree, or take such 
as are windfallen; and, putting gum and rosin 
upon one side thereof, they set fire to it. And, 
when it hath burned it hollow, they cut out the 
coal with their shells. Ever when they would 
burn it deeper or wider, they lay on gums which 
burn away the timber. And by this means they 
fashion very fine boats, and such as will trans- 
port twenty men. Their oars are like scoops. 

The king's brother had great liking of our 
armor, a sword and divers other things we had, 
and offered to lay a great box of pearls in gage 
for them. But we refused it for this time, be- 
cause we would not let them know that we 
esteemed thereof, until we had understood in 
what places of the country the pearls grew. 

He was very just of his promise. For many 
times we delivered him merchandise upon his 
word; but ever he came within the day, and 
performed his promise. 

He sent us every day a brace or two of fat 
bucks, conies, hares, fish ; the best of the world. 
He sent us divers kinds of fruits, melons, wal- 
nuts, cucumbers, gourdes, pease, and divers 
roots ; and of their country corn, which is very 
white, fair, and well tasted, and groweth three 
times in five months. 

After they had been divers times aboard our 
ships, myself, with seven more, went twenty 
miles into the river. And the following evening 
we came to an island which they call Roanoke. 

At the north end thereof was a village of nine 
houses, built of cedar, and fortified round about 
with sharp trees, to keep out their enemies ; and 
the entrance into it made like a turnpike, very 
artificially. When we came towards it the wife 
of Granganimeo came running out to meet us, 
very cheerfully and friendly. Her husband was 
not then in the village. Some of her people she 
commanded to draw our boats on shore. Others 
she appointed to carry us on their backs to the 
dry ground ; and others to bring our oars into 
the house, for fear of stealing. 

When we were come into the outer room 
(having five rooms in her house), she caused us 
to sit down by a great fire. And she herself 
took great pains to see all things ordered in the 
best manner she could ; making great haste to 
dress some meat for us to eat. 

Then she brought us into the inner room. 

She set on the board, standing along the 
house, some wheat, sodden* venison, and 
roasted ; fish sodden, boiled, and roasted ; 
melons raw ; and sodden roots of divers kinds, 
and divers fruits. Their drink is commonly 
water; but, while the grape lasteth, they drink 
wine. But it is sodden, with ginger in it, and 
black cinnamon, and sometimes sassafras, and 
divers other wholesome and medicinal herbs. 

We were entertained with all love and kind- 
ness, and with as much bounty as they could 
possibly devise. 

We found the people most gentle, loving, and 
faithful, void of all guile and treason, and such 
as live after the manner of the golden age. 

The people only care how to defend them- 
selves from the cold in their short winter. Then- 
meat is very well sodden, and they make broth 
sweet and savory. Their vessels are earthen 
pots, and their dishes are wooden platters. 

Boiled, or soaked and softened. 

i8 9 3-] 



While we were at our meat there came in at 
the gate two or three men with their bows and 
arrows from hunting, Whom, when we espied, 
we began to look one toward another, and 
offered to reach our weapons. 

But as soon as she espied our mistrust, she 
was very much moved, and caused some of her 
men to run out and take away their bows and 
arrows and break them, and withal beat the 
poor fellows out of the gate again. 

When we departed in the evening, and would 
not tarry all night, she was very sorry, and gave 
us into our boat our supper half dressed, pots 
and all ; and brought us to our boat side, in 
which we lay all night, removing the same a 
pretty distance from the shore. She, perceiving 
our jealousy, was much grieved, and sent divers 
men and thirty women to sit all night on the 
bank side by us; and sent us into our boats 
fine mats to cover us from the rain, using very 
many words to entreat us to rest in their houses. 

But because we were few men, and, if 
we had been lost, the voyage had been in 
very great danger, we durst not adventure any- 
thing; although there was no cause of doubt. 
For a more kind and loving people there 
cannot be found, as far as we have hitherto 
had trial. 

Thus, Sir, we have acquainted you with the 
particulars of our discovery, made this present 
voyage. And, so contenting ourselves with this 
service at this time, which we hope hereafter to 
enlarge, as occasion and assistance shall be 
given, we resolved to leave the country. 

Which we did accordingly, and arrived in the 
west of England about the midst of September. 

Master Philip Armadas, 
Master Arthur Barlow, 


We brought home, also, two of the savages ; 
men whose names were Wanchese and Manteo. 






Next month, my sunny ones, you '11 be shout- 
ing " Hurrah for the Fourth of July ! " — a capital 
and most stirring sentiment, no doubt; but what say 
you to giving a rousing cheer to-day, my hearties, 
for June — June, the month of Roses ! — the month 
that brings sweet "vacation-times" to restless 
school-boys and school-girls, and to weary teachers 
— not to mention a few other good folk scattered 
here and there over the country. 

"All right?" I knew you'd say so. Well, 
then, boys and girls, THREE CHEERS FOR June! 
Hip, hip, hurrah! 

Good ! Now we '11 settle down to a quiet life. 
First you shall hear a good story which comes from 
our honored friend, J. A. D. : 


THE boys on a farm missed apples from a choice 
tree. Though the tree was carefully watched, the 
fruit steadily disappeared, and no one knew how. 

One day, when the other boys had gone to din- 
ner, and John had been detained in a field sepa- 
rated by a hill from the favorite apple-tree, he 
heard the tree shake and its fruit fall. The air was 
still. Somebody evidently had shaken the tree. 
Mr. Thief had taken advantage of the dinner-hour, 
and was at work ! Running swiftly but quietly 
to the top of the hill, the lad was amazed to find 
no human being in sight. The thief could not 
have escaped, and there was no place to hide; but 
where was he ? There was no doubt that he had 
been there, and had shaken the tree ; for some of 
the apples, fresh fallen, lay on the ground, and 
"Jim," the favorite horse, was eating them! 

While the bewildered boy remained on the hill- 
top quietly looking all around for the thief, Jim 
ate the last apple and searched in vain for more. 
When he failed to find any, he walked to the tree, 
bent his fore legs as he pressed his shoulder 

against it, and, rising suddenly, gave the tree a 
severe shaking. Several apples fell; Jim swallowed 
them quickly, and looked about for more. 

The thief had been found. When the lad 
shouted, Jim looked toward the hilltop in sur- 
prise, and then ran away, as if he knew that he 
had been caught stealing. 

Happy Jim, — not to know any better! I shall 
never believe "he knew that he had been caught 
stealing." On the contrary, I think he probably 
was a very modest horse, and ran away so as not 
to hear himself complimented for his good taste 
and ingenuity. 

Here is another pleasant anecdote from J. A. D.: 


In the autumn of 1S76, when old and young were 
celebrating the National Centennial, a venerable 
minister in New Jersey celebrated his fiftieth anni- 
versary as pastor of a single church. The house 
of worship was elaborately decorated, and over the 
pulpit in floral letters " Semi-centennial " told the 
meaning of the celebration. 

In the crowd filling the house of worship was 
Bert, the pastor's grandson. The little fellow oc- 
cupied a front seat beside his aunt, and spent most 
of the time during service in studying the deco- 
rations. At the close he said to his aunt: 

" What makes grandpa such a poor speller? " 

" Why, is he ? " was the response. 

" Yes ; just read his spelling back of the pulpit." 

" What is wrong in that, Bertie ? " 

" Can't you see ? He spells ' See My Centennial ' 
' S-e M-i C-e-n-t-e-n-n-i-a-1.' Two words out of 
three are wrong." 


Dear Jack-in-the-Pulfit : A certain learned pro- 
fessor, in the course of a scientific lecture, not long ago, 
told his young hearers how to blow mammoth soap- 
bubbles. His directions were : First get a lamp-chimney 
(one that is straight up and down) ; dip one end into a 
solution of soap and water, until a flat disk of film covers 
the end; blow gently till the bubble is formed; then re- 
move the chimney about two inches from the lips, and 
continue blowing gently. The professor advised his class, 
in trying this experiment, to add a little glycerin to the 
soap and water. Perhaps some of your boys and girls 
will follow these directions, and report results. 

Yours truly, E. M. C. 


HERE come a couple of true stories about spiders. 
They — picture and all — are ready made for you 
by our friend and close observer, Mr. Nugent. 
But if you watch the busy and wonderful little 
creatures carefully, during this brand-new summer, 
you will find out for yourselves many another true 
example of their shrewd and skilful ways. 


Dear Jack : I think spiders are the brightest creatures 
of the insect world. What other insects roam on land, 
travel through the air, walk and sail on the water, and 

.8 9 3-: 


even make diving-bells for themselves so as to live under 
water ? 

Look at the feats they accomplish as engineers and 
architects. They are both house-builders and bridge- 
builders who can build anywhere. When difficulties 
present themselves, the spider usually overcomes them 
in so masterful and artistic a manner as to win admiration 
from human beings. 

If, in making a bridge from one tree to another, the 
branches interfere with the free passage of their lines, 
they lower themselves — in a cradle made for this pur- 
pose — ■ until the way is clear. Then the line is spun out 
and the wind kindly carries it across for them. The wind 
and the spider are in partnership when a bridge is to be 
built. The spider furnishes from his own body the silken 
strand and fastens his end of it; the wind takes the other 
end and carries it perhaps across a stream, perhaps across 
a road, thirty or forty feet wide. 

If by chance a spider falls into the water far from land, 
it is sure to find some clever way of reaching shore. 
The spider may walk on the water, or, if there is a breeze, 
he may sail ashore. If he happens to find something 
floating, he will make a life-boat of it. It does not take 
long to cover the floating straw, or seed, or whatever it may 
be, with net, and thereby make of it a beautiful silken raft. 

I send you a drawing showing a spider which was 
dropped into the water, near the silken ball of a cocoon. 
The spider at once threw strands around the ball and 
attached herself to it. Lazily and gently the silken buoy 
bobbed across the surface of the water, and, with the 
wind's help, cocoon and spider were soon safe ashore. 
Yours truly, Meredith Nugent. 


Dear Jack : Did you ever hear of spiders making 
nightcaps ? Well, they do ; and I saw one in the British 
Museum which had been made by them. A nice large 
nightcap it was too, being nearly four feet long. 

As you might perhaps suppose, it came from that 
place where so many queer things come from — the Fiji 

I send you a drawing of the only specimen I ever saw. 
When one of the museum professors took the nightcap 
out of the case for me, I noticed the thickness of the 
material; it must have been nearly an inch thick, and 
yet the cap was so light it hardly seemed to have any 
weight. But what can a Fiji Islander want with a 
nightcap from three to four feet in length ? 

I peeped into it, hoping to see some of the original 
framework, but even when the professor partially turned 
the cap inside out we found nothing of the framework 

In color the cap was a dingy gray; originally it 
had been of a beautiful light-golden hue. Attached 
to it was a card saying that it had been presented 
to the museum by Miss Gordon-Cumming, and I hoped 

,~ <%&.■ : 



Islands. When a native wants a nightcap, all he has to 
do is to make a light framework, and place it in a dark 
corner where spiders are plentiful. These accommo- 
dating little creatures will then completely cover the 
framework with beautiful silk, and make for the native a 
nightcap of which he may well be proud. 

I might find an account of it in some of the many 
interesting books that lady has written. In a hurried 
search, however, I found neither text nor illustration 
referring to it, and this leads me to believe that per- 
haps the drawing I send you is the first that has ever 
been published of this interesting nightcap. M. N. 


By P. Newell. 


MR. pill-box: "Well, well!— what next ? I 've seen cork Miss Incandescent Light thinks no part of the day is so de- 

legs before, but never a cork head ! " lightful as the evening. As soon as it begins to grow dark 

her face lightens up. 




happv potato : "I say, this is ever so much jollier than living 
underground, is n't it ? " 

doleful potato: " I don't see it." 

happy potato : "Of course not — why don't you use your eyes 
as I do?" 

young button-hook: starts a new enterprise. 

probably a fish : ist bob : " What ails you ? — got the cramp ? " 2D bob : " O-o-o ! Something 's got me by the toe ! 


Contributors are respectfully informed that, between the ist of June and the 15th of September, manuscript cannot conveniently be 

examined at the office of St. Nicholas. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with contributions 

will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date. 

Children's Hospital, 
Mt. Auburn, Cincinnati, O. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little girl at the Chil- 
dren's Hospital, and I thought I would tell you about 
the exhibition a kind magician gave us here. 

They brought all the children into our ward, and all 
that were able to be up were up, and all that were in bed 
were brought in. We had all the beds moved, and the 
chairs, and a number of people came to see him play. 
The first thing he did was to shuffle cards. Then he 
borrowed a lady's handkerchief, and gave it to one of the 
boys, and told him to roll it up. Then he asked him to 
open it, and when he did so, it was all in pieces ; and 
then he told him to roll it up again, and then he asked 
him to give him a small piece, and when he opened it, 
it was all in a long piece. Then he took a lemon 
from a boy's mouth, and when he opened it, the hand- 
kerchief was in it. Then he put the handkerchief 
on a plate, and set it on fire, and took a piece of paper, 
and put it on the fire, and put it out. Then he took dollars 
out of our hair, and from our sleeves. Then he asked a 
man to lend him his hat, and he hit the hat, and two 
rabbits were in it. Then he brought in some candy in a 
bowl, and gave us all some of the candy. Then he took 
a stick and wound shavings out of the bowl, and out of 
the shavings flew a live duck. Then he brought two 
glasses in, and in one was a blue handkerchief, and in 
one was a red handkerchief and an egg. A colored 
boy had the blue, and Professor had the red. He shook 
his glass, and the egg went over into the other glass, and 
the handkerchiefs changed places. We children enjoyed 
it very much, for which we thanked him. We will never 
forget him. Nettie Precht. 

(Ten years old.) 

Santa Barbara, Cal. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I was born on one of the 
Sandwich Islands. The island of Hawaii is the one, and 
the town in which I was born is called Hilo. It is a 
lovely place, and I lived there until I was six years old. 
The large volcano is on Hawaii. When I was one year 
old, there was an eruption, and the lava came within a 
mile of our house. A good many people packed up their 
things to come away, but we did not. 

It is warm the whole year round there, and bathing is 
fine. There are lots of kinds of fruit there, but, of 
course, they are different from what they are here. Al- 
most everybody rode horseback when I lived there. 

We came from the islands to San Francisco in a sail- 
ing vessel, and were just a month on the way. I enjoyed 
the water very much, and was almost sorry to leave the 

We have lived in Santa Barbara five years, and like 
the place very much. 

A short time ago, a party went up to Seven Falls. I 
was one of the party, and we had a lovely time. We 
took our lunch with us, and were gone all day. It is 
quite a jaunt to get there, as the trail is very steep in some 
places. There are lots of lovely ferns there now, and 
there were a great many when we went. We came home 
well laden with lace-ferns, gold-backed ferns, and other 

varieties. There is a lovely stream in the canon, and the 
sides of it in some places were covered with maidenhair 

My aunt Mary sends you to me, and I enjoy you ever 
and ever so much. I am interested in " Polly Oliver," 
for the story said her home was Santa Barbara. 
Your delighted reader, 

Mary D. K . 

Washington, D. C. 
Dear St. Nicholas : The following names of five 
United States senators contain all the letters of the 
alphabet: Nathan F. Dixon, Zebulon B. Vance, James 
Henderson Kyle, W. A. Pefter, Roger Q. Mills. 

Your sincere reader, Geo. S. S . 

Philadelphia, Pa. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am ten years old, and have 
taken you for two years. Last Saturday papa and I 
went all through the Cramps' shipyard. We went all 
over the " New York " and the " Columbia," or " Pirate," 
as she is called, because she is intended to destroy the 
enemy's commerce, and not to do any heavy fighting. 
The Pirate will be the fastest war-vessel afloat when she 
is done. We also saw the hull of the " Minneapolis" 
(which is a sister ship to the Pirate), and of the " Indiana" 
and " Massachusetts," which are sister ships intended 
for very heavy fighting. The contract price of the New 
York will be $2,985,000, of the Columbia, $2,725,000, 
and of the Indiana, $3,063,000. I am your interested 
reader, Lewis B . 

Wappoolah, South Carolina. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We have taken your paper for 
five years, since I was a year old. My cousin is writing 
this for me. I am anxious to tell you about " Billy," the 
goat. My brother Joe and I drive him, and he rears 
up, and if you pull his tail he will run away. Joe can 
ride him, but he is much too wild for me. We have a 
mule called "Anniemule." 

My mother's name is Fannie, and I am called Panchita, 
and that means " Little Fannie." We live on a rice-plan- 
tation, and have a good time. Mulberry Castle is four 
miles from here, and was built in 1714, and there are 
cannons at the corners of the building. Billy joins me 
in good wishes to all the children. Panchita. 

Morgan Station, Cal. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little boy ten years old. 
Yesterday I was walking along with my dog, " Jack," in 
our canon. I soon got tired of walking, and climbed 
upon a rock to sit down, and Jack gave me a push and 
I fell down in the cacti. I started to run home, and 
stumbled and fell in a lot of thistles ; so when I got 
home I was in a pretty bad state. I had to take off 
my clothes and go to bed. A kind friend in Florida has 
sent you to me for almost a year ; my sister has taken 
you for four years. Please don't forget you have a lov- 
ing friend and reader, Walter B . 




Venice, Italy. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am going to tell you about 
the lovely times we are having. We have not been in 
Venice long, but what I have seen is so funny. 

When we arrived at the station, I thought we would 
get into a cab, but when we came out on a platform, we 
saw below us water instead of a street, and black gon- 
dolas instead of cabs. There were men at each end of 
the boats, some dressed in blue with long red scarfs. 
They stand up to row. 

The boats look like graceful black swans. The Grand 
Canal is very wide, and the side ones very narrow, and 
in these it is hard for the boats to pass each other. 

From our windows we watch the great ocean-steamers 
passing, and also the little steamboats, which are the 
street-cars of Venice. 

We go every morning in front of the Cathedral, where 
there are hundreds of pigeons, and if you buy corn from 
the men there, the pigeons will rest, many at a time, on 
your arm and take corn. Once I had six on my arms, 
and I saw one man with them on his hat. When we 
were at Pisa, we saw the leaning tower; it leans fourteen 
feet out of the right way, and another strange sight was 
a woman letting down a basket out of the third-story 
window for the mail, and the postman put the letters 
into it, and she drew it up again. 

I am your devoted reader, Alice H . 

San Francisco, Cal. 
Dear St. Nicholas: As I have not seen many 
letters from California, I thought I would write one. I 
enjoy your delightful magazine very much, and look 
forward to its coming every month. We live at North 
Beach, and from our windows can be seen the San 
Francisco Bay. Papa is the captain of the pilot-boat 
" Bonita," and we often go on little excursions around the 
bay. West is the Pacific Ocean, and on the beach is 
situated a building called the Cliff House. From there 
can be seen seal-rocks, and it is fun to see the big lazy 
sea-lions slide off into the water. It is sometimes very 
rough around there, and once a big black fin-whale was 
nearly stranded on the beach. California is a very beauti- 
ful State, I think, as there are flowers all the year round, 
and the orchards and grain-fields are very extensive. The 
scenery is beautiful. I often wish we had more snow in 
San Francisco, for we have had it only four times since I 
was born. I think "Juan and Juanita" is a beautiful 
story, and I like the " White Cave" and " Polly Oliver's 
Problem" very much. Your interested reader, 

Norma L. C . 

bloomed until April before, so I took great care of it, 
and tried to have it out by February I, mama's birthday. 
She is an invalid, and I thought it would be a pleasant 
little surprise for her. I put boiling water in the saucer 
every day, and it came out lovely. Mama was quite 
pleased about it. 

Your interested reader, M. F, . 

Ciiarlestown, Mass. 

Dear St. NICHOLAS : I am very fond of reading you, 
and to-night I was trying to find you, but could not, for I 
think my little sister has taken you to bed with her, for 
she likes St. Nicholas better than any other we take. 

We have a new pet, which is a pup, an Irish setter, 
and he is very cute. The reason that we have him is, last 
summer we lost a very handsome Irish setter. We 
missed him so much that papa bought us this new one. 
You cannot imagine how much he looks like our old 
dog " Prince." We named our new dog " Prince," too. 

I am only eleven years old, and always sit down wdien 
I get home from school and read you through. 
Your faithful reader, 

Florence A. L . 

New York. 
Dear St. Nicholas : We are two little girls, ten and 
eleven years old, and are very good friends. It always is 
a source of great pleasure to us wdien your magazine ar- 
rives, and we look forward eagerly to the twenty-fifth of 
each month. We have taken you for a long while. "Lady 
Jane," "Sara Crewe," "Juan and Juanita," and "The 
Fortunes of Toby Trafford " are our favorite stories. We 
think that these lines from Longfellow's "The Ladder of 
St. Augustine " are so pretty that we should like to see 
them in the " Letter-box," in order to make them known 
to your other readers : 

" All thoughts of ill, all evil deeds 

That have their root in thoughts of ill ; 
Whatever hinders or impedes 
The action of the nobler will — 

" All these must first be trampled down 
Beneath our feet, if we would gain 
In the bright fields of fair renown 
The right of eminent domain." 

Your devoted little readers, 

Hilda J . 

Rose W- — . 

Halifax, N. S. 

Dear St. Nicholas : Halifax is a garrison town, and 
is chiefly noted for its fine public gardens, where the 
military band plays once a week during the summer 
months, and is enjoyed by a great many people. We 
have a fine park and many beautiful and interesting 
drives outside the city. One of the nicest walks is around 
the top of Citadel Hill. You have a view of the whole 
city and harbor, which is called one of the finest in the 
world. On a clear day you can look away out to sea. 
Quite a number of American tourists come here in the 
hot months to enjoy our cool sea-breezes, fishing, and 
boating. They think we are very slow, and our city so 
old-fashioned ; but mama, who has traveled a good deal, 
says there are worse places than Halifax. I have two 
sisters and one big brother. He lives in Brooklyn, N. Y., 
and tells me there are streets in that city called Pine- 
apple, Lemon, Orange, Cherry, and Cranberry. 

We have a numbei of house-plants that we take great 
care of, and they reward us by blooming freely this year. 
I found a bud on my calla-lily early in January. It never 

Springfield, Ont. 
My Dear St. Nicholas: I am eleven years old, and 
have traveled a good deal. I have been to the Channel 
Islands ; it is lovely there ; Sark has some very pretty 
caves called the " Gouliot " ; in Herm there is a beach of 
nothing but shells. We stayed in Guernsey most of the 
time. I have been to Brussels ; the 6th of January is St. 
Nicholas's day, and all the children get their presents 
then instead of at Christmas. I have a little French 
card with the legend of St. Nicholas on it. I stayed at a 
little place in the south of England called Wilmington, 
where there is a very curious figure marked on the Downs. 
It is tsvo hundred and forty feet high. The country peo- 
ple call it the " Giant " ; half of it has been restored. It 
is supposed to have been done in the time of the ancient 
Britons, when Julius Cresar landed in England. In May 
my mother and I are going back to England, and I mean 
to take you for a long time, you are so interesting. 
I remain your constant reader, 

Edith de Lisle Q . 

6 3 8 


Gloucester Court House, Va. 

Dear St. Nicholas : You were given to me as a 
Christmas present by a friend. 

I am nearly twelve years old, and am devoted to read- 
ing. I must tell you something my little sister said yes- 
terday. We took her to the dentist, and when she came 
back she was asked by her teacher what he did to her. 
She said that he "pulled out one and stuffed two teeth." 
She has the oddest ways of expressing herself. I will say 
good-by. Your new reader, 

Elizabeth S. B. L . 

in rather a wild country, where there is plenty of wild 
animals, such as bear, panther cats, and foxes. They 
catch our sheep a good deal. I go to school about two 
miles from here, and ride on horseback. I can shoot a 
gun and kill hawks and birds. I have some sheep. I 
have one that I work in my little wagon, and with him 
I plow in my garden. He eats corn and oats. We have 
sheep, cattle, horses, and hogs. I have a little black mare. 
I remain ever your loving friend, J. R. B . 

McKinney, Texas. 
My Dear St. Nicholas : I live in a small town 
called McKinney, Texas, and have no brothers or sisters, 
but I find great consolation in reading your delightful 
pages. I am in the sixth grade, and have been going 
to school nearly four years. My teacher is very kind 
to us. Your devoted little reader, 

Mack M- . 

Boston, Mass. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am just ten years old. I am 
going to tell you a little of my travels in Switzerland. 
At Zermatt we got up at four o'clock one morning, and 
the sun was just rising all rosy on the Matterhorn, while 
the village was dark as night. It was a beautiful sight. 
We took mules up to the Gornergrat, which was a long 
pull, taking about five hours. From the top one could 
see ten or twelve great glaciers at his feet. The clouds 
rested soft and white just on the tiptop of the mountains, 
and looked like eider-down. The Matterhorn rises above 
all the mountains ; there is a sharp point which seems to' 
touch the sky. Staying at the top long enough to rest 
and enjoy the lovely picture, also to get a drink of milk, 
which they had to sell in a little shed built up there for the 
purpose, we came down on foot, it being too steep to ride. 
The little shops in the village are very curious, and have 
queer things for sale. 

From Zermatt we went to Chamounix. Mont Blanc 
does not seem very high, although, as you know, it is the 
highest mountain in Europe. We went over the Mer 
de Glace ; there are some very deep crevasses in this 
glacier, which you can look away down into. On the 
other side of the Mer de Glace we reached the Mauvais 
Pass, which in some places makes one dizzy, it is so dread- 
fully steep down the solid side of a rock, with the glacier 
and crevasses at the bottom. There was an iron railing 
to hold on by so that one may not fall down the precipice. 

After leaving this we reached the Chapeau, which is 
called by this name because it is a big rock shaped like a 
hat with a vizor. At this place was a little shop where 
one could buy souvenirs. We met our mules and rode 
back to the hotel. From your devoted reader, 

Frank G. M , Jr. 

Hotel Florence, San Diego, Cal. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken you for five years, 
and am ten years old now. 

As this is a seaport town, we see a great many vessels 
here. There have been some men-of-war in here, and 
I have been on a good many of them. Last year there 
were more of our American men-of-war here, but this 
year there have been more English men-of-w r ar. There 
was one very large English man-of-w r ar in here this year ; 
the name of it was the "Warspite." It was the English 

I lived over at Coronado beach, at a hotel named Hotel 
del Coronado, for a year. It is the largest hotel in America. 
They have a beautiful swimming-tank over at Coronado, 
and I learned to swim in it. 

I remain your devoted reader, Emily D . 

Washington, D. C. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little girl ten years old. 
We have taken you a long time. I read the story " Two 
Girls and a Boy," and found it very interesting. I live 
in Washington, and as the story said Mildred's house was 
in Washington, I took a walk to see if I could find it, 
and I think I found the right house, for it was very much 
like the description you gave. As we were not ac- 
quainted with the people who lived in that house, I could 
not go through it, as I would like to have done, and was 
very sorry I could not. Your little reader, 

Grace M . 

Montell, Texas. 
Dear St. Nicholas : My good aunty gave you to me 
for a Christmas present. I enjoy you so much. I live 
at the foot of Shoe Peg Mountain, on the Newacet River, 

We thank the young friends whose names follow for 
pleasant letters received from them: Joseph F., Valerie 
De K., Amy J., Winifred M. B., Bonnie B., Elizabeth 
H. M., Richard B. L., Ruth B. J., Louise H. B., John 
A. S., Jr., Cecilia Y., Madeline T., Eben S., Edith R. J., 
Harrv and Fanny A., Frieda R., Beth M., Louise K., 
Bertha G. M., M. S. A. S., M. T. D., Gracie D., Lizzie 
P. C, Annie F. C, Irving C. N., Edith G. S., Marie 
M. G., Ida L. C, Agnes B. C, Mary M., Jessie H. C, 
Marguerite D., Gertrude T., Louise A. B., Grace V. H., 
May H., Harriet D. McK., B. D. J., H. M. S.,Wallie 
B., Harry O., Margaret M., Annette I.T.,Eva D., Sarah 
L., Mary M., Clara S., Amelia T. P., Courtenay D., Edith 
M. S., Anna B., Charles R. H., Laura A., Blanche I. G., 
Dorothy Van W., Ina, Nina, and Mina T., Florine K., 
Marjorie B. T., Rae M. R., Abby A. N., Grace A. K., 
Marie, Marjorie G. J., Arthur W., Gordon H. P., Edith 
C, G. G. W., Joseph S., Charlotte and Minna J., Mat- 
tie, Nellie R. M., Lawrence S., Emily S., Addison N. C, 
Mary F., M. C. F., Nannie R., Edna I. W., J. D. M., 
C. W. F., Ruth B., O. B., Anna M. P., Elbridge J., C. R. 


Illustrated Central Acrostic. Audubon. Cross-words : 

i. clAms. 2. flUte. 3. baDge. 4. chUm. 5. caBin. 6. flOat. 

7. caNoe. 

Connected Word-squares. I. 1. Major. 2. Agama. 3. Jambs. 

4. Ombre. 5. Rased. II. 1. Ruler. 2. Usage. 3. Large. 4. Egged. 

5. Reeds. III. 1. Discs. 2. Inkle. 3. Skein. 4. Clips. 5. Sense. 
IV. 1. Scuds. 2. Comic. 3. Umbra. 4. Direr. 5. Scare. 

Diamond, i. C. 2. Cog. 3. Sarah. 4. Cacolet. 5. Corollary. 

6. Gallery. 7. Hears. 8. Try. 9. Y. 

Numerical Enigma. " Never seem wiser, nor more learned, than 
the people you are with." 
Word-square, i. Japan. 2. Alate. 3. Parol. 4. Atoll. 5. Nelly. 


Diamonds Connected by a Central Square. I, 1. C. 2. Gab. 
3. Gamut. 4. Cameras. 5. Burin. 6. Tan. 7. S. II. 1. P. 2. Mab. 

3. Magic. 4. Pagodas. 5. Bidet. 6. Cat 7. S. III. 1. Posse. 2. Of- 
ten. 3. Start. 4. Serve. 5. Enter. IV. 1. T. 2. Cab. 3. Cable. 

4. Tableau. 5. Bleat 6. Eat. 7. U. V. 1. T. 2. Rab. 3. Rates. 

4. Tattler. 5. Belie. 6. See. 7. R. 

Rhomboid. Across : 1. Layer. 2. Naval. 3. Meter. 4. Nenia. 

5. Raphe. 

Concealed Double Acrostic. Initials, Charles Dickens ; 
finals, Pickwick Papers. Cross-words: 1. Cap. 2. Hadji. 3. Alec. 
4. Risk. 5. Low. 6. Eli. 7. Sumac. 8. Dirk. 9. Imp. 10. Camera. 
11. Keep. 12. Eagle. 13. Nectar. 14. Sailors. 

To our Puzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the March Number were received, before March 15th, from " The McG's " — Helen C. 
McCleary — Rosalie Bloomingdale — Paul Reese — Isabel and Marjorie — "Dad and Bill" — Chester B. Sumner — Mama and Jamie — 
Hugh, Kenneth, and Constance — Ida C. Thallon — "Infantry" — Alice M. Blanke and Co. — E. M. G. — "Midwood" — Jessie Chap- 
man — Hubert L. Bingay — Jo and I — " R. H., Jr." — Bessie R. Crocker — Sallie and Nell — Josephine Sherwood — " Uncle Mung" — 
Ida and Alice — Maud and Dudley Banks — Jennie and Robert Liebmann. 

Answers to Puzzles in the March Number were received, before March 15th, from Walter C. Mathias, 2 — Henry R. Worthing- 
ton, 2 — Julia D. Lancaster, 1 — Elsie H. Bridgham, 1 — Edith McLaughlin, 1 — J. H. W., 1 — No Name, Olean, 2 — H. H. Scudder, 1 — 
Came Chester, 2 — Marion L. C, 4 — Robt. W. Macbeth, 1 — R. J. Burdette, Jr., 2 — Will. P. Philips, 3 — Etta A. Sonntag, 2 — Maude 
E. Palmer, 11 — P. D. P. and M. P., 1 — M. H. S. and R. J. S., 3 — Mary Mack, 1— Grace C, 2— C. Wagner, 2 — Mary Peter, 1 — 
W. Eyre Trainer, 1 — Howard Woodhead, 3 — Milton S. Garver, 2 — L. O. E., 11 — Robert Wheelwright, 2 — Franklin E. Everdell, 3 — 
Alice V. Farquhar, 3 — Effie and Agnes, 3 — Floy L. Noteman, 1 — Harold W. Mason, 3 — Leo Liebmann, 7 — "Ego," 3 — Edwin 
Rutherford, 2 — Margie Wallis, 2 — Laurence F. Peck, 3 — " Miramonte," 4 — Ruth A. W., 1 — Annie F. Crane, 1 — Mary S. Hunter 
and Caroline S. Williams, 2 — Gail Ramond, 9 — " Mardo ,"2 — " Clover," 2 — Grace Coventry, 1 — Lucy H. Bullard, 3 — Mary and Elsie 
Draper, 2 — Evelyn de Zouche, 3 — "Jake," 2 — " Santa Claus," 2 — De Forest Porter Rudd, 1 — R. V. Pell, 2 — L. K., 2 — Ruby and 
Cousin, 2 — " Mr. Micawber," 4 — Belle Duke and Katherine, 3 — Melville Hunnewell, 6 — F. C. J. and R., 1 — " The Four J's," 2 — 
Addison Neil Clark and Mama, 9 — "All of Us," 3 — J. S. G., 7 — Laura Stedman, 3 — Donald F. Schumann, 3 — Dora F. Here- 
ford, 8— M. M. T. and G. T., 6 — Margaret, 2— Edith T. Race, 1— Charlotte A. Peabody, 9— Howard A. Plummer, 3 — Alfred W. 
Bowie, 2 — Sadie and Mama, 4 — Amy Ewing, 6 — Dorothy Hills, 2 — "Two Sage Judges," 6 — June, 8 — Grandma and Hattie, 1 — 
" Wareham," 11 — Laura M. Zinser, 5 — Elinor Barras, 4 — Agnes C. Leaycraft, 2 — Class 8, School No. 25, Roselle, 3 — Vincent V. M. 
Beede, 6 — Marie Therese B., 6 — John Howard Eager, 10 — Willie S. Cochran, 1 — "Old Riddler," 4 — Willie N. Carter, 2. 


A FAMOUS American : 


The problem is to change one given word to another 
given word, by altering one letter at a time, each altera- 
tion making a new word, the number of letters being 
always the same, and the letters remaining always in the 
same order. Example : Change LAMP to fire in four 
moves. Answer: lamp, lame, fame, fare, fire. 

I. Change bland to smile in eight moves. II. 
Change holy to isle in eleven moves. 

MRS. w. 

I. UPPER Square: i. A Turkish official. 2. A per- 
former. 3. To assault. 4. A quadruped. 5. Furnished 
with means of protection. 

II. Left-hand Square: i. A proportional part or 

share. 2. An African wading bird. 3. Fat. 4. A shell. 
5. Behindhand. 

III. RlGHT-HAND Square : I. A vision. 2. A musi- 
cal composition. 3. To settle an income upon. 4. To 
pay divine honors to. 5. One who mows. 

IV. Lower Square: i. A kingdom. 2. Listless- 
ness. 3. Concerning. 4. Pertaining to the moon. 5. A 
covering for the head, worn by church dignitaries. 


1. A LETTER. 2. A preposition. 3. A hostelry. 4. A 
number. 5. Not outward. 6. The principal meal of 
the day. 7. Tearing asunder. 8. Drifting. 9. Offering. 
10. Making believe. EVERETT m. h. 


My first is in cowslip, but not in grass ; 

My second in iron, but not in brass ; 

My third is in arrow, but not in bow; 

My fourth is in swallow, but not in crow; 

My fifth is in sudden, but not in quick ; 

My sixth is in plaster, but not in brick ; 

My seventh is in coffee, but not in tea; 

My eighth is in ankle, but not in knee; 

My ninth is in dinner, but not in lunch ; 

My tenth is in cluster, but not in bunch ; 
My whole ten letters in a row 
Will spell a place where all should go. 


Across : 1. To alter so as to fit for a new use. 2. A 
drama of which music forms an essential part. 3. Parts 
of comets. 4. Grates harshly upon. 5. Unswerving in 

Downward: i. A letter. 2. To perform. 3. Quick 
to learn. 4. A fruit. 5. The act of testing in any man- 
ner. 6. Besides. 7. To watch closely. 8. One half 
of a word meaning to reserve. 9. A letter. 






My primals name an author, and my finals a painter. 
Both were born in June. 

Cross-words: I. Brittle. 2. Having symmetry and 
dignity. 3. Concerning. 4. Extreme joy or pleasure. 
5. A small, monkey-like animal. 6. To surround entirely. 
7- A long, cushioned seat. 8. A maritime 
province of China. 9. To pour in 
drop by drop. 10. Not the one 
or the other. II. A large ani 
mal found in South Africa. 
12. A title given in India 
to Europeans of rank. 13. 
A machine for shaping ar- 
ticles of wood or metal. 
14. The act of pouring 
out. 15. A tribe of In- 
dians native of Arizona. 
L. W. 


6. A group of islands in the South Pacific Ocean. 7. A 
country in the north of Africa. 8. The most elevated 
chain of mountains in the world. 9. An important river 
of Germany. 10. A large river of Quebec. 11. A city 
of the Netherlands. 12. The most populous city of Italy. 

L. W. 

by which precious 
2. To make satisfac- 
4. Imbecile. 

I. 1. The weight 
stones are weighed, 
tion for. 3. A common bird. 
5. A dogma. 

Included Square: i. A measure of 
weight. 2. A kind of sorcery. 3. Noth- 

II. 1. The gathered and thrashed stalks of 
certain species of grain. 2. A distinct por- 
tion of a people. 3. A Dutch gold coin. 4. 
Helps. 5. A Russian measure of length. 

Included Square: i. The chief nerve 
of a leaf. 2. A small fresh-water fish. 3. 
A wager. " xelis." 


Each of the nine pictures maybe described by a word 
of five letters. When rightly guessed and placed one 
below another, the zigzag (beginning at the upper left- 
hand letter) will spell the name of a celebrated French 
dramatic author and founder of the French drama, who 
was born in June, 1606. 


Cross-words : 1. Annoys. 2. Pertaining to the 
humors. 3. Lamenting. 4. Fashionable. 5. To make 
wider. 6. Intoxicated. 7. A warrior. 

From 1 to 2, a carpenter ; from 3 to 4, navigators ; 
from 5 to 6, a country of Europe. H. w. E. 


When the following geographical names have been 
rightly guessed, and placed one below another, the initial 
letters will spell a name given to Baalbec. 

1. A seaport town of Peru. 2. A great river of South 
Asia. 3. A seaport town of Morocco. 4. A city seven- 
teen miles south of Tokio. 5. A Russian seaport city. 

1. A letter. 2. An article. 3. Exhibited in a showy 
or ostentatious manner. 4. The universe. 5. Low hills 
of drifting sand. 6. Places in an upright position. 7. To 
pull or tear down. S. In this manner. 9. A letter. 

"ANN o'dyne." 



Vol. XX. JULY, 1893. No. 9. 

Copyright, 1893, by The Century Co. All rights reserved. 


By Helen Gray Cone. 

Oh, sailor, young sailor, with tan on your cheek, 
What flag is your schooner to fly at her peak? 
Oh, Jack in blue jacket, I pray you, declare 
What colors your busy brown fingers prepare ? 

" What flag but the grandest ? " my sailor-boy said : 
"The star-spangled union, the stripes white and red; 
The flower of all ensigns, the pride of the sky: 
No flag but ' Old Glory ' my beauty shall fly ! " 

Oh, sailor, my sailor, you 've chosen aright ! 
Thus prize it forever, that banner of light. 
Each stripe has a meaning you yet cannot guess; 
Each star is more sacred than words may express. 

O'er desolate ice-fields, — 'mid islands of palm, — 

It lives through the storm, and it sleeps through the calm. 

It guides, through the war-cloud, on perilous ways ; 

It decks the glad cities on festival days. 

In far-away harbors, where many ships meet, 
Where dark foreign faces look strange in the street, 
The flag flaps a greeting, and kinsmen who roam 
All bless the brave colors that tell them of home. 

Wherever it flutters, the bride of the breeze, 
A message of freedom it flings o'er the seas, 
A hope for the world, — and the heart that beats true 
Must leap at the sight of the red, white, and blue! 

By Harold Frederic. -J|?J_ 

T was well on to- 
ward evening before 
this Third of July 
all at once made it- 
self gloriously differ- 
ent from other days 
in my mind. 

There was a very 
long afternoon, I 
remember, hot and 
overcast, with continual threats of rain which 
never came to anything. The other boys 
were too excited about the morrow to care 
for present play. They sat instead along the 
edge of the broad platform-stoop in front of 
Delos Ingersoll's grocery-store, their brown 
feet swinging at varying heights above the 
sidewalk, and bragged about the manner in 
which they expected to celebrate the anni- 
versary of their Independence. Most of the 
elder lads were very independent indeed ; they 
were already sure of their parents' permission 
to stay up all night, so that the Fourth might 
be ushered in with its full share of ceremony. 
The smaller urchins pretended that they also 
had this permission, or were sure of getting it. 
Little Denny Cregan attracted admiring at- 
tention by vowing that he should remain out, 
even if his father chased him with a police- 
man all around the ward, and he had to go 
and live in a cave in the woods until he was 
grown up ! 

My inferiority to these companions of mine 
depressed me. They were allowed to go with- 

out shoes and stockings; they wore loose and 
comfortable old clothes, and were under no 
instructions to keep them dry or clean or 
whole ; they had their pockets literally bulging 
now with all sorts of portentous engines of noise 
and racket — huge brown " double-enders," 
bound with waxed cord ; long, slim, vicious- 
looking "nigger-chasers"; big "Union tor- 
pedoes," covered with clay, which made a 
report like a great horse-pistol; — and so on 
through an extended catalogue of strange and 
dangerous explosives upon which I looked 
with awe, as their owners from time to time 
exhibited them with the proud simplicity of 
those accustomed to greatness. Several of 
these boys also possessed toy cannons, which 
would be brought forth at twilight. They 
spoke firmly of ramming them to the muzzle 
with grass, to produce a greater noise — even 
if it burst the cannons themselves and blew 
up the town. 

By comparison, my lot was a sad one in- 
deed. I was a solitary child, and a victim to 
propriety. A blue necktie was daily pinned 
under my broad collar, and there were gilt but- 
tons on my Zouave-jacket. When we were 
away in the pasture playground near the gulf, 
and I ventured to take off my foot-gear, every 
dry old thistle-point in the whole territory 
seemed to arrange itself to be stepped upon 
by my white and tender soles. I could not 
swim : while my lithe, bold comrades dived out 
of sight under the deep water, and darted 
about chasing one another far beyond their 




depth, I paddled timidly around the " babies'- 
hole" close to the bank, in the warm and 
muddy shallows. 

Especially plain was my humble state on this 
July afternoon. I had no " double-enders," nor 
might I hope for any. The mere thought of 
owning a cannon seemed monstrous and un- 
natural to me. By some unknown process of 
reasoning my good mother had years before 
reached the theory that a boy ought to have 

their tails, were fit only for " fizzes," I saved 
till after breakfast. With the finishing of these, 
I fell sadly back upon the public for amuse- 
ment. I could see the soldiers, hear the band 
and the oration, and in the evening, when 
it did n't rain, enjoy the fireworks ; but my 
own contribution to the patriotic noise was 
always over before the breakfast dishes had 
been washed. 

My mother scorned the little paper torpe- 


just two packs of small fire-crackers on the 
Fourth of July. Four or five succeeding an- 
niversaries had hardened this theory into a 
matter of faith, with all its details rigidly fixed. 
The fire-crackers were bought for me over 
night, and placed on the hall table. Beside 
them lay a long rod of punk. When I has- 
tened down and out in the morning, with these 
simple things in my hands, the hired girl would 
give me, in an old kettle, some embers from 
the wood fire in the summer kitchen. Thus 
furnished, I went into the front yard, and in 
solemn solitude fired off these crackers one by 
one. Those which, by reason of having lost 

does as childish and wasteful things. You 
merely threw one of them, and it went off, she 
said, and there you were. I don't know that 
I ever entirely understood this objection, but 
during my whole childhood it seemed unan- 
swerable. Nor was it easy to budge my good 
mother from her position on the great two-packs 
issue. I seem to recall having successfully 
evaded it once or twice, but two packs was 
the rule. 

When I ventured to call her attention to 
the fact that our neighbor, Tom Hemingway, 
thought nothing of exploding a whole pack 
at a time inside their wash-boiler, she was not 




dazzled, but only replied: "Wilful waste makes 
woeful want." 

Of course the idea of the Hemingways ever 
knowing what want meant was absurd. They 
lived a dozen doors or so from us, in a big 
white house with stately white columns rising 
from veranda to gable across the whole front, 
and a large garden, flowers and shrubs in front, 
fruit-trees and vegetables behind. Squire Hem- 
ingway was the most important man in our part 
of the town. I know now that he was never 
anything more than a United States Commis- 
sioner of Deeds,* but in those days, when he 
walked down the street with his gold-headed 
cane, his blanket-shawl folded over his arm, 
and his severe, dignified, close-shaven face held 
well up in the air, I seemed to behold a com- 
panion of Presidents. 

This great man had two sons. The elder of 
them, De Witt Hemingway, was a man grown, 
and was at the front, with the army of the 
Potomac. I had seen him march away, over 
a year before, with a bright drawn sword, at 
the head of his company. The other son, 
Tom, was my senior by only a twelvemonth. 
He was by nature proud, but often consented 
to consort with me when the choice of better 
company was at low ebb. 

It was to this Tom that I listened with most 
envious eagerness, in front of the grocery-store 
on the afternoon of which I speak. He did 
not sit on the stoop with the others, — no one 
expected quite that degree of familiarity, — 
but leaned carelessly against a post, whit- 
tling out a new ramrod for his cannon. He 
said that this year he was not going to have 
any ordinary fire-crackers at all ; they, he 
added with a meaning glance at me, were only 
fit for girls. He might do a little in " double- 
enders," but his real point would be in " ring- 
ers " — an incredible giant variety of cracker, 
Turkey-red like the other, but in size almost a 
rolling-pin. Some of these he would fire off 
singly — between the volleys from his cannon. 
But a good many he intended to explode, in 
bunches say of six, inside the tin wash-boiler, 
brought out into the middle of the road for that 
purpose. Maybe, it would blow the old thing 
sky-high, but no matter. It was an old one. 

* A minor official who witnesses 

Even as he spoke, the big bell in the belfry 
of the town hall burst forth in a loud clangor of 
swift-repeated strokes. It was half a mile 
away, but the moist air brought the loud 
pealing sounds to our ears as if the tower 
had stood close above us. We sprang off the 
stoop and stood poised, waiting to hear the 
number of the ward struck, and ready to 
scamper off on the instant if the fire was any- 
where in our part of the town. But the excited 
peal went on and on, without a pause. It be- 
came clear that this meant something besides a 
fire. Some of us wondered vaguely what that 
something might be, but we soon forgot it and 
resumed our talking. Billy Norris, who was 
the son of poor parents, but could whip even 
Tom Hemingway, said he had been told that 
the German boys on the other side of the gulf 
w r ere coming over to " rush " us on the follow- 
ing day, and that we ought all to collect nails 
to fire at them from our cannon. This we 
pledged ourselves to do — the bell ceaselessly 
keeping up its throbbing tumult. 

Suddenly we saw the familiar figure of 
Johnson running up the street toward us. 
What his first name was I never knew. To 
every one, little and big, he was just " John- 
son." He and his family had moved into our 
town after the War began ; I fancy they moved 
away again before it ended. I do not even 
know what he did for a living. But he seemed 
always idle, always noisily good-natured, and 
always shouting out the news at the top of 
his lungs. I cannot pretend to guess how he 
found out everything as he did, or why, having 
found it out, he straightway rushed homeward, 
scattering the intelligence as he ran. Most 
probably, Johnson was molded by Nature for a 
town-crier, but by accident was born some gen- 
erations after the race of bellmen had disap- 
peared. Our neighborhood did not like him ; 
our mothers did not know Mrs. Johnson, and 
we boys behaved rather snobbishly, I fear, to 
his children. He seemed not to mind this at 
all, but came up unwearyingly to shout out the 
tidings of the day for our benefit. 

" Vicksburg 's fell ! Vicksburg 's fell ! " was 
what we heard him yelling, as he approached. 

Delos Ingersoll and his hired boy ran out of 
the signing of certain legal papers. 




the grocery. Doors opened along the street, 
and heads were thrust out inquiringly. 

" Vicksburg 's fell ! " he kept hoarsely pro- 
claiming, his arms waving in air, as he stag- 
gered along at a dog-trot past us, and went 
into the hotel next to the grocery. 

I cannot say how definite an idea these tid- 
ings conveyed to our boyish minds. I have a 
notion that at the time I assumed that Vicks- 
burg had something to do with Gettysburg, 
where I knew from the talk of my elders that 
a terrible battle had been going on since the 
middle of the week. Doubtless this confusion 

was aided by the fact that an hour or so later, 
on that same wonderful day, the wire brought 
us word that this awful conflict on Pennsylva- 
nian soil had at last taken the form of a Union 
victory. It is difficult now to see how we 
could have known both these things on the 
Third of July — that is to say, before the peo- 
ple actually concerned seem to have been sure 
of them. Perhaps it was only inspired guess- 
work, but I know that my town went wild over 
the news, and that the clouds overhead cleared 
away as if by magic. 

The sun did well to spread that summer sky 
at eventide with all the pageantry of color the 

rainbow knows. It would have been prepos- 
terous that such a day should slink off in dull, 
Quaker grays. Men were shouting in the streets 
now. An old cannon left over from the Mexi- 
can war had been dragged out on to the rick- 
ety, covered river-bridge, and was frightening the 
fishes and shaking the dry, worm-eaten rafters 
as fast as swab and rammer could work. Our 
town bandsmen were playing as they had never 
played before, down in the square in front of the 
post-office. Nature could not hurl into sunset 
enough wild fireworks to fit our exultant mood. 

The very air was filled with the scent of tri- 
umph — the spirit of victory. It seemed only 
natural that I should march off to my mother, 
and quite boldly tell her that I desired to stay 
out all night with the other boys. I had never 
dreamed of daring to make such a request in 
other years. Now I was scarcely conscious of 
surprise when she gave her consent, adding with 
a smile that I would be glad enough to come in 
and go to bed before half the night was over. 

I steeled my heart after supper with the 
proud resolve that if the night turned out to be 
as long as one of those Lapland winter nights 
we read about in the geography, I still would 
not surrender. 

The boys outside were not so excited over 
the tidings of my unlooked-for victory as I had 
expected them to be. They received the news, 
in fact, with a rather mortifying coolness. Tom 
Hemingway, however, took enough interest in 
the affair to suggest that, instead of spending 
my twenty cents in paltry fire-crackers, I might 
go down-town and buy another can of powder 
for his cannon. By doing so, he pointed out, I 
would be a part-owner, as it were, of the night's 
performance, and would be entitled to touch off 
the cannon occasionally. This generosity af- 
fected me, and I hastened down the long hill- 
street to show myself worthy of it, repeating the 
instruction of " Kentucky Bear-Hunter, coarse 
grain" over and over again to myself as I went. 

Half-way on my journey I overtook a person 
whom, even in the gathering twilight, I recog- 
nized as Miss Stratford, the school-teacher. She 
also was walking down the hill, and rapidly. It 
did not need the sight of a letter in her hand to 
tell me that she was going to the post-office. 
In those cruel war-days everybody went to the 



post-office. I myself went regularly to get our 
mail, and to exchange the paper currency nick- 
named "shin-plasters" for one-cent stamps, with 
which to buy yeast and other commodities that 
called for small change. 

Although I was very fond of Miss Stratford, — 
I still recall with tender liking her gentle eyes, 
and pretty, rounded, dark face, in its frame of 
long, black curls, — I now coldly resolved to 
hurry past, pretending not to know her. It was 
a mean thing to do. Miss Stratford had always 
been good to me, shining in that respect in 
brilliant contrast to my other teachers. Still, 
the" Kentucky Bear-Hunter, coarse grain" was 
too important a matter to wait upon mere femi- 
nine friendships, and I quickened my pace into 
a trot, to scurry by unrecognized. 

" Oh, Andrew ! Is that you ? " I heard her 
call out as I ran past. For the instant I thought 
of rushing on as if I had not heard. Then I 
stopped, and walked beside her. 

" I am going to stay up all night. Mother 
says I may; and I am going to fire off Tom 
Hemingway's big cannon every fourth time, 
right straight through until breakfast-time," I 
announced to her, loftily. 

" Dear me ! I ought to be proud to be seen 
walking with so important a citizen," she an- 
swered, with kindly playfulness. She added 
more gravely, after a moment's pause : " Then 
Tom is out, playing, too, — he is with the other 
boys, is he?" 

" Why, of course ! " I responded. " He always 
lets us stand round when he fires off his cannon. 
He 's got some 'ringers' this year, too." 

I heard Miss Stratford murmur an impulsive 
" Thank Heaven ! " under her breath. 

Full as the day had been of surprises, I could 
not help wondering that the fact of Tom's 
ringers should stir up such strong feelings in 
the teacher's mind. But since the subject so in- 
terested her, I went on with a long catalogue 
of Tom's other firework treasures, and from 
that to an account of his almost incredible col- 
lection of postage-stamps. In a few minutes 
more, I am sure, I should have revealed to her 
the great secret of my life, which was my re- 
solve, in case I came to be an emperor and 
conqueror like Napoleon, to make Tom at 
once a Marshal of the Empire. 

But we had now reached the post-office 
square, in the business center of the town. I 
had never before seen it so full of people. 

Even to my boyish eyes the tragic line of 
division which cleft this crowd in twain was 
apparent. On one side, over by the Seminary, 
the youngsters had lighted a bonfire, and were 
running about it — some of the bolder ones 
jumping through it in frolicsome recklessness. 
Close by stood the band, now valiantly thump- 
ing out "John Brown's Body" upon the noisy 
night air. It was quite dark by this time, but 
the musicians knew the tune by heart. So did 
the throng about them, and sang it with lusty 
fervor. The doors of the hotel toward the 
corner of the square were flung wide open. 
Two black streams of men kept in motion 
under the radiance of the big reflector-lamp over 
these doors — one going in, one coming out. 
They slapped one another on the back as they 
passed, with exultant screams and shouts. Every 
once in a while, when movement was for the 
instant blocked, some voice lifted above the 
others would begin " Hip-hip, hip-hip — " and 
then would come a roar that fairly drowned the 

On the post-office side of the square there 
was no bonfire. No one raised a cheer. A 
densely packed mass of men and women stood 
in front of the big square stone building, with 
its closed doors and curtained windows, upon 
which, from time to time, the shadow of some 
passing clerk, bare-headed and hurried, would 
be for a moment thrown. They waited in si- 
lence for the night mail to be sorted. If they 
spoke to one another, it was in whispers — as if 
they had been standing with uncovered heads 
at a funeral service in a graveyard. The dim 
light reflected over from the bonfire, or down 
from the shaded windows of the post-office, 
showed solemn, hard-lined, anxious faces. Their 
lips scarcely moved when they muttered little 
low-toned remarks to their neighbors. They 
spoke from the side of the mouth, and only 
on one subject : 

" He went all through Fredericksburg with- 
out a scratch — " 

"He looks so much like me — General 
Palmer told my brother he 'd have known him 
in a circus — " 




" He 's been gone — let 's see, — it was a year 
some time last April — " 

" He was counting on a furlough the first of 
this month. I suppose nobody got one as 
things turned out — " 

"He said, 'No; it ain't my style. I '11 fight 
as much as you like, but I won't be nigger- 
waiter for no man, captain or no captain — '" 

Thus I heard the scattered murmurs among 
the grown-up heads above me, as we pushed 
into the outskirts of the throng, and stood there, 
waiting with the rest. There was no sentence 
without a " he " in it. A stranger might have 
fancied that they were all talking of one man. 
I knew better. They were the fathers and 
mothers, the sisters, brothers, wives of the men 
whose regiments had been in that horrible three 
days' fight at Gettysburg. Each was thinking 
and speaking of his own, and took it for granted 
the others would understand. For that matter, 
they all did understand. The town knew the 
name and family of every one of the twelve- 
score sons it had in this battle. 

It is not very clear to me now why people all 
went to the post-office to wait for the evening 
papers that came in from the nearest big city. 
Nowadays they would be brought in bulk and 
sold on the street before the mail-bags had 
reached the post-office. Apparently, that had 
not been thought of in our slow old town. 

The band across the square had started up 
afresh with "Annie Lisle," — the sweet old 
refrain of " Wave, willows ; murmur, waters " 
comes back to me now after a quarter-century 
of forgetfulness, — when all at once there was a 
sharp forward movement of the crowd. The 
doors had been thrown open, and the hallway 
was on the instant filled with a swarming 
multitude. The band had stopped as suddenly 
as it had begun, and no more cheering was 
heard. We could see whole troops of dark forms 
scudding toward us from the other side of the 

" Run in for me — that 's a good boy! Ask 
for Dr. Stratford's mail," the teacher whispered, 
bending over me. 

It seemed an age before I finally got back to 
her, with the paper in its postmarked wrapper 
buttoned up inside my jacket. I had never 
been in so fierce and determined a crowd be- 


fore, and I emerged from it at last, confused in 
wits and panting for breath. I was still looking 
about through the gloom in a foolish way for 
Miss Stratford, when I felt her hand laid sharply 
on my shoulder. 

" Well — where is it ? Did nothing come ? " 
she asked, her voice trembling with eagerness, 
and the eyes which I had thought so soft and 
dove-like flashing down upon me as if she were 
the " cross teacher," Miss Pritchard, and I had 
been caught chewing gum in school. 

I drew the paper from under my roundabout 
coat, and gave it to her. She grasped the paper, 
and thrust a finger under the cover to tear it off. 
Then she hesitated for a moment, and looked 
about her. " Come where there is some light," 
she said, and started up the street. Although 
she seemed to have spoken more to herself 
than to me, I followed her in silence, close at 
her side. 

For a long way the sidewalk in front of 
every lighted store-window was thronged with 
a group of people clustered tight about some 
one who had a paper, and was reading from it 
aloud. Besides broken snatches of this read- 
ing we caught now groans of sorrow and 
horror, now exclamations of proud approval, 
and even the beginnings of cheers, broken in 
upon by a general " Hush ! " as we hurried past 
outside the curb. 

It was under a lamp in the little park nearly 
half-way up the hill that Miss Stratford stopped, 
and spread open the paper. I see her still, 
white-faced under the flickering gas-light, her 
black curls making a strange dark bar be- 
tween the pale straw hat and the white of her 
shoulder-shawl and muslin dress, her hands 
trembling as they held up the extended sheet. 
She scanned the columns swiftly, skimmingly 
for a time, as I could see by the way she 
moved her round chin up and down. Then 
she came to a part which called for closer 
reading. The paper shook perceptibly now, 
as she bent her eyes upon it. Then all at once 
it fell from her hands, and without a sound 
she walked away. 

I picked up the paper, and followed her 
along the graveled path. It was like pursuing 
a ghost, so weirdly white did her summer attire 
now look to my frightened eyes, with such a 

■8 9 3-: 



swift and deathlike silence did she move. The 
path upon which we were, described a circle 
touching the four sides of the square. She did 
not quit it when the intersection with our street 
was reached, but followed straight round again 
toward the point where we had entered the 
park. This too in turn she passed, gliding 
noiselessly forward under the black arches of 
the overhanging elms. The suggestion that 
she did not know she was going round and 
round in a ring startled my brain. I would 
have run up to her now if I had dared. 

Suddenly she turned, and saw that I was 
behind her. She sank slowly into one of the 
garden-seats by the path, and held up for a 
moment a hesitating hand toward me. I went 
up at this, and looked into her face. Shad- 
owed as it was, the change I saw there chilled 
my blood. It was like the face of some one I 
had never seen before, with fixed, wide-open, 
staring eyes which seemed to look beyond me, 
through the darkness, upon some terrible sight 
no other could see. 

"Go — run and tell — Tom — to go home! 
His brother — his brother has been killed" she 
said to me, choking over the words as if they 
hurt her throat, and still with the same strange 
dry-eyed, far-away gaze, covering yet not see- 
ing me. 

I held out the paper for her to take, but she 
made no sign, and I gingerly laid it on the seat 
beside her. I hung about for a minute or two 
longer, imagining that she might have some- 
thing else to say — but no word came. Then, 
with a feebly inappropriate " Well, good-by," I 
started off alone up the hill. 

It was a distinct relief to find that my com- 
panions were gathered at the lower end of the 
common, instead of at their accustomed haunt 
further up, near my home ; for the walk had 
been a lonely one, and I was deeply depressed 
by what had happened. Tom, it seems, had 
been called away about quarter of an hour be- 
fore. All the boys knew of the calamity which 
had befallen the Hemingways. We talked 
about it from time to time, as we loaded and 
fired the cannon which Tom had indifferently 
turned over to my friends. It had been out 
of deference to the feelings of the stricken 
household that they had betaken themselves 

and their racket off to the remote corner of the 
common. The solemnity of the occasion si- 
lenced criticism upon my conduct in forgetting 
to buy the powder. There would be enough 
as long as it lasted, Billy Norris said, with 
wise decision. 

We talked awhile upon the likelihood of De 
Witt Hemingway receiving a military funeral. 
These mournful processions had by this time 
become such familiar things to us that the 
prospect of one more had no element of ex- 
citement in it, save as it brought a gloomy 
sort of distinction to Tom. He would ride in 
the first mourning-carriage with his parents, and 
this would associate us, as we walked along 
ahead of the band, with the most important 
members of the procession. We regretted now 
that the soldier-company which we had so long 
meant to form remained still but a plan. 
Had it been otherwise we would probably 
have been awarded the head of the column in 
the marching. Some one suggested that it was 
not yet too late — and we promptly bound 
ourselves to meet after breakfast next day to 
organize and begin drilling. If we worked at 
this night and day, and our parents at once 
provided us with uniforms and guns, we should 
be in time. It was also arranged that we 
should be called the " De Witt C. Hemingway 
Fire Zouaves," and that Billy Norris should 
be side-captain. The chief command would, 
of course, be reserved for Tom. We would 
specially salute him as he rode past in the 
closed carriage, and then fall in behind, form- 
ing his honorary escort. 

None of us had known the dead officer 
well, owing to his greater age. He was seven 
or eight years older than even Tom. But 
the more elderly among our group had seen 
him play base-ball in the Academy nine, and 
our neighborhood was still alive with legends 
of his early audacity and skill in collecting 
barrels and dry- goods boxes at night for elec- 
tion bonfires. It was remembered that once 
he carried away a whole front-stoop from the 
house of a little German tailor on one of the 
back streets. As we stood around the heated can- 
non, in the great black solitude of the common, 
our fancies pictured this redoubtable young man 
once more among us — not in his blue uniform, 




with crimson sash and sword laid by his side, 
and the gauntlets drawn over his lifeless hands, 
but as a taller and glorified Tom, in a rounda- 
bout jacket and copper-toed boots, giving the 
law on this his playground. The very cannon 
at our feet had once been his. The night air 
became peopled with ghosts of his own friends 
— handsome boys who had grown up before us, 
and had gone away, many of them to lay down 
their lives in far-off Virginia or Tennessee. 

These heroic shades brought drowsiness in 
their train. We fell into long silences, varied 
by yawns, when it was not our turn to ram 
and touch off the cannon. Finally some of us 
stretched ourselves out on the grass, in the 
warm darkness, to wait comfortably for this 
turn to come. 

What did come instead was daybreak — 
finding Billy Norris and myself alone constant 
to our all-night vow. We sat up and shivered 
as we rubbed our eyes. The morning air had a 
chilling freshness that went to my bones — and 
these, moreover, were filled with those queer 
aches and stiffnesses which beds were invented 
to prevent. We stood up, stretching out our 
arms, and gaping at the pearl and rose begin- 
nings of the sunrise in the eastern sky. The 
other boys had all gone home, and taken the 
cannon with them. Only scraps of torn paper 
and tiny patches of burnt grass marked the site 
of our celebration. 

My first weak impulse was to march home 
without delay, and get into bed as quickly as 
might be. But Billy Norris looked so finely res- 
olute and masterful that I hesitated to sug- 
gest this, and said nothing, leaving the first 
word to him. One could see, by the merest 
casual glance, that he was quite above thinking 
any hour too early for him. I remembered now 
that he was one of that remarkable body of 
boys, the paper-carriers, who rose while all 
others were asleep in their warm beds, and 
trudged about long before breakfast, distribut- 
ing the Clarion among the well-to-do house- 
holds. This occupation had given him his 
position in our neighborhood as quite the next 
in leadership to Tom Hemingway. 

He presently explained his plans to me, after 
having tried the center of light on the horizon 
where soon the sun would be, by an old brass 

compass he had in his pocket — a process by 
which, he said, he could tell pretty well what 
time it was. The paper would n't be out for 
nearly three hours yet, — and if it were not for 
the fact of a great battle there would have been 
no paper at all on this glorious holiday, — but 
he thought we would go down-town and see 
what was going on round about the news- 
paper-office. Forthwith we started. He cheered 
my faint spirits by assuring me that I would 
soon cease to be sleepy, and would, in fact, feel 
better than usual. I dragged my feet along at 
his side, waiting for this freshness to come, and 
meantime secretly yawning against my sleeve. 

Billy seemed to have dreamed a good deal, 
during our nap on the common, about the De 
Witt C. Hemingway Fire Zouaves. At least 
he had now in his head a carefully arranged 
system of organization, which he explained as 
we went along. I felt that I had never before 
known his greatness, his born genius for com- 
mand. His scheme halted nowhere. He gave 
out offices with readiness and decision ; he 
treated the question of uniforms and guns as a 
little detail that would settle itself; he spoke 
with calm confidence of our offering our ser- 
vices to the Republic in the autumn ; his clear 
brain found even the materials for a fife-and- 
drum corps among the German boys in the 
back streets. It was true that I myself seemed 
to play but a small part in these great pro- 
jects : the most that was said about me was 
that I might make a fair third corporal. But 
Fate had thrown in my way such a wonderful 
chance of becoming intimate with Billy, that I 
made sure I should swiftly advance in rank — 
the more so as I could see in the background 
of his thoughts, as it were, a grim purpose to 
make short work of Tom Hemingway's lofty 
claims, once the funeral was over. 

We were forced to make a circuit of the 
park, on our way down, because Billy observed 
some half-dozen rough boys at play with a can- 
non, whom we knew to be hostile. If there 
had been only four, he said, he would have 
gone in and thrashed them. He could whip 
any two of them, he added, with one hand tied 
behind his back. I listened with admiration. 
Billy was not tall, but he possessed great thick- 
ness of chest and length of arm. His skin was 




so dark that we boys spoke from time to time 
of his having Indian blood. He did not dis- 
courage this idea, and he admitted himself that 
he was double-jointed. 

The streets of the business part of the town, 
into which we now made our way, were quite 
deserted. We went around into the yard be- 
hind the printing-office, where the carrier-boys 
were wont to wait for the press to get to work ; 
and Billy displayed some impatience at dis- 
covering that here too there was no one. It 
was now broad daylight, but through the win- 
dows of the composing-room we could see 
a few of the 
printers still set- 
ting type by ker- 
osene lamps. 

We seated our- 
selves, at the end 
of the yard, on a big, 
flat, smooth-faced stone, 
and Billy produced from his 
pocket a number of what 
he called " em quads," with 
which the carriers had learn- 
ed from the printer's boys to 
play a game called " jeffing." 
You shook the pieces of 
metal in your hands, and 
threw them on the stone; 
your score depended upon 
the number of nicked sides 
that were turned uppermost. 
We played this game " only 
for fun " for a little while. 
Then Billy told me that the 
carriers played it for pennies — and that it was 
unmanly for us to do otherwise. He had no 
pennies at that precise moment, but would pay 
at the end of the week what he might lose; in 
the mean time there was my twenty cents to 
go on with. After this Billy threw so many 
nicks uppermost that my courage gave way, 
and I made an attempt to stop the game ; but 
a single remark from him as to the military 
rank which he was saving for me if I only 
displayed true soldierly nerve and grit, was 
enough to quiet me once more, and the play 
went on. 

Soon I had only five cents left. 

Suddenly a shadow came between the sun- 
light and the stone. I looked up, to behold 
a small boy, with bare arms and a blackened 
apron, standing over me, watching our game. 
There was a great deal of ink on his face and 
hands, and a cold, not to say sly, expression 
in his eye. 

" Why don't you jeff with somebody of 
your own size ? " he demanded of Billy, after 
having looked me over critically. 

He was not nearly so big as Billy, and I ex- 
pected to see the latter instantly rise and crush 
him, but Billy only laughed and said we were 


playing for fun; he was going to give me all 
my money back. I was glad to hear this, but 
still felt surprised at the wish to be friendly 
shown by Billy toward this diminutive inky 
boy. It was not the air befitting a side-cap- 
tain — and what made it worse was that the 
strange boy loftily declined to be moved by it. 
He sniffed when Billy told him about the mili- 
tary company we were forming; he coldly 
shook his head, with a curt "nixie! " when in- 
vited to join it; and he laughed aloud at hear- 
ing the name our company was to bear. 

" He ain't dead at all — that De Witt Hem- 
ingway," he said, with jeering contempt. 




" Hain't he, though ! " exclaimed Billy, scorn- 
fully. " The news came last night. Tom Hem- 
ingway had to go home — his mother sent for 
him — on account of it ! " 

" I '11 bet you a quarter he ain't dead," re- 
sponded the practical inky boy. " Money up, 
though ! " 

" I 've only got fifteen cents. I '11 bet you 
that, though," rejoined Billy, producing my torn 
and grimy shin-plasters. 

" All right ! Wait here ! " said the boy, run- 
ning off to the building and disappearing 
through the door. There was barely time for 
me to learn from my companion that this prin- 
ter's-apprentice was called " the devil, " and 
could both whistle between his teeth and 
crack his fingers, when he reappeared, with a 
long narrow strip of paper in his hand. This 
he held out for us to see, indicating with an 
inked forefinger the special paragraph we were 
to read. Billy looked at it sharply, for several 
moments, in silence. Then he said to me : 
" What does it say there ? I must have got 
some powder in my eyes last night." 

I read the paragraph aloud, not without an 
unworthy feeling that the inky boy would now 
respect me deeply because I could read : 

Correction. — Lieutenant De Witt C. Hemingway, 
of Company A, — th New York, reported in earlier des- 
patches among the killed, is uninjured. The officer miss- 
ing is Lieutenant Carl Heinninge, Company F, of the 
same regiment. 

Billy's face visibly lengthened as I read this 
out, and he felt us both looking at him. He 
made a pretense of examining the slip of paper 
again, but in a half-hearted way. Then he 
ruefully handed over the fifteen cents, and, 
rising from the stone, shook himself. 

"Them Dutchmen never was no good!" 
was what he said. 

The inky boy had put the money in the 
pocket under his apron, and grinned now with 
as much enjoyment as dignity would permit 
him to show. He did not seem to mind any 
longer the original source of his winnings, and 
it was apparent that I could not with decency 
recall it to him. Some odd impulse prompted 
me, however, to ask him if I might have the 
paper he had in his hand. He was magnani- 

mous enough to present me with the proof- 
sheet on the spot. Then, with another grin, he 
turned and left us. 

Billy stood sullenly kicking with his bare 
toes into a sand-heap by the stone. He would 
not answer me when I spoke to him. It 
flashed across my mind that he was not such 
a great man, after all, as I had imagined. In 
another instant or two it had become quite 
clear to me that I had no admiration for him 
whatever. Without a word, I turned on my 
heel and walked determinedly out of the yard 
and into the street, homeward bent. 

All at once I quickened my pace ; some- 
thing had occurred to me. The purpose thus 
formed grew so swiftly that soon I found 
myself running. Up the hill I sped, and 
straight through the park. If the rowdy boys 
shouted after me I knew it not, but dashed on 
heedless of all else save the one idea. I only 
halted, breathless and panting, when I stood 
on Dr. Stratford's doorstep, and heard the 
night-bell inside jangling shrilly in response to 
my excited pull. 

As I waited, I pictured to myself the old 
doctor as he would presently come down, half 
dressed and pulling on his coat as he ad- 
vanced. He would ask eagerly, "Who is 
sick? Where am I to go?" and I would 
calmly reply that he need not alarm himself, 
but that I had a message for his daughter. 
He would, of course, ask me what it was, and 
I, politely but firmly, would decline to explain 
to any one but the lady in person. Just what 
might happen next was not clear — but I be- 
held myself throughout master of the situation, 
at once kindly, courteous, and firm. 

The door opened with unexpected prompt- 
ness, while my vision still hung in mid-air. In- 
stead of the bald and spectacled old doctor, 
there confronted me a white-faced, solemn-eyed 
lady in a black dress, whom I did not seem to 
know. I stared at her, tongue-tied, till she 
said, in a low, grave voice : 

" Well, Andrew, what is it ? " 

Then of course I saw that it was Miss Strat- 
ford, my teacher — the person whom I had come 
to see. Some vague sense of what the sleepless 
night had meant in this house came to me as 
I gazed confusedly at her mourning-dress, and 

i8 93 ] 



heard no more than the echo of her sad tones 
in my ears. 

" Is some one ill ? " she asked again. 

"No; some one — some one is very well!" 
I managed to reply, lifting my eyes again to 
her wan face. The sight of its drawn lines 
and pallor overcame my wearied and overtaxed 
nerves with sympathy for her. I felt myself 
almost ready to whimper. Something inside 
my breast seemed to be dragging me down 
through the stoop. 

I have now only the recollection of Miss 
Stratford's kneeling by my side, and thus un- 
rolling and reading the proof-paper I had in 
my hand. We were in the hall now, instead 
of on the stoop, and there was a long silence. 
Then she put her head on my shoulder and 

wept. I could hear and feel her sobs as if 
they were my own. 

''I — I did n't think you 'd cry — that you 'd 
be so sorry," I heard myself saying, at last, 
in disappointed self-defense. 

Miss Stratford lifted her head and, still 
kneeling as she was, put a finger under my 
chin to make me look her in the face. Lo! 
the eyes were laughing through their tears: 
the whole countenance was radiant once more 
with the light of happy youth, and with that 
other glory which youth knows only once. 

" Why, Andrew boy," she said, trembling, smil- 
ing, sobbing, beaming all together, "did n't you 
know that people cry for very joy sometimes ? " 

And as I shook my head she bent down and 
kissed me. 


The Beetroot met the Celery — 
"Good morning!" said the sweet root; 

Crisply the Celery replied, 
" How are you, Mr. Beetroot ? " 

" I 'm weary, sir," said Mr. B., 
" Of living near to posies ; 
I 'm always hearing people praise 
The lilies and the roses. 

" That lily 's white and rose is red, 
I know by observation, 
But why don't folks give us our turn 
Of ardent admiration?" 

" Surely because," snapped Celery, 
" They scarce see past their noses ; 
/ ';;/ whiter than the lilies, sir — 
You 're redder than the roses!" 


By J. O. Davidson. 

HO has not 
noticed, dur- 
ing a sultry 
summer after- 
noon, the little 
whirlwind in the 
middle of the dusty 
road, caused by 
two breezes com- 
ing down streets that come together ? First there 
will be seen a column of light dust revolving 
upward ; next, moving here and there, it picks 
up stray bits of paper and leaves ; then, as 
its whirling grows stronger and covers more 
ground, it adds to its strange collection of 
objects small sticks and tufts of grass ; at last 
away it goes, whirling and dancing its elfin 
waltz until some immovable object interferes 
with its freedom of movement, when, like a 
spoiled child, it ceases its wild play, the whirl- 
ing stops, and — pouf! — down come the 
sticks and leaves and paper, and the whirl- 
wind is gone. In the Western States the same 
kind of whirlwinds grow to such proportions 
that through the thickest woods great tracks 
are mown as if cut by a giant scythe. But 
these big storms very appropriately receive the 
more dignified name of tornadoes. 

On the ocean, these whirlwinds or tornadoes 
have, of course, no dust or trees to toss about 
in their giant hands, so they seize upon and 
suck up the water as the only plaything they 
can find, and, twisting it into a long glittering 
rope of trembling liquid, lift it up to the clouds, 
whence it is soon dispersed again in the form of 
rain. When performing such antics as these, 
the whirlwind or tornado is known as a water- 

The ship's crew which has so patiently steered 
its craft by treacherous rocks, over dangerous 
shoals, and through all kinds of storm and 
stress at sea, is often confronted by a new and 

unexpected danger — the waterspout. It most 
often makes its appearance beneath a black 
and lowering sky ; but sometimes they start up 
mysteriously in clear weather to move along the 
ocean's rim in queer fantastic attitudes, looking 
for all the world like captive balloons dancing 
up and down, and tugging at their ropes — now 
near the sea, now near the sky. 

In the Straits of Malacca, and among the 
many islands in the China Sea, they are greatly 
dreaded by the peaceful fishermen, who must 
often pull up anchor and race for the shore to 
avoid the unwelcome approach of these giddy 
visitors, who fly hither and yon at their own 
sweet will, minus rudder or pilot. I have seen 
a waterspout make for a large fleet of rice- 
junks, and the scattering of the queer-looking 
craft under their brown sails and dashing 
sweeps looked comically like the flight of a 
flock of startled quail. 

Sometimes a spout can be broken by the 
firing of a cannon close by ; and then the sin- 
gular spectacle will often be presented of the 
upper half of it going up into the clouds, while 
the lower part subsides into the sea. As most 
Chinese junks carry a number of guns and 
gongs, the waterspout often gets the worst of it 
in the uproar that is certain to salute one. 

The great four-masted American sailing ship 
" Shenandoah," while coming home from Liver- 
pool last March, had a lively experience with 
waterspouts. When within five hundred miles 
of Sandy Hook, the wind suddenly changed, a 
great bank of clouds just ahead parted, and 
there, coming down, driven before the gale, 
appeared six great waterspouts at one time. 

One rushed by, just clearing the bowsprit and 
head-sails by a few yards. Another came at 
her amidships, threatening to carry the main- 
mast away, and the captain just avoided by 
quickly turning the ship toward and around it. 
There were two more near ones, and as they 

6 5 6 



were too close to run away from, the big ship 
was "luffed" up and steered right between 
them. The ship was saved, but what her fate 
would have been had she been struck by one 
can only be imagined from the captain's de- 
scription of the waterspout that passed astern. 
He says it seemed to be fully twenty feet in 
diameter, and of solid water reaching to the 

During the same month the steamer 
" Piqua " had a still more uncomfortable ex- 
perience with these wandering giants of the 

away, two of them made a rush, headed him 
off, and struck the starboard side of the steam- 
er's iron bow a tremendous blow. Then there 
was a commotion indeed. The broken col- 
umns of water dropped in tons on the forward 
deck, smashing the pilot-house and bridge-lad- 
der, tearing down thirteen ventilators, and dash- 
ing to the deck two sailors badly wounded. 
The ship staggered and rolled as the weight 
of water poured over her sides in a Niagara 
of foam and spray, and for some time she 
could make no headway. 


ocean, near the Bermuda Islands. There she 
met a cyclone upon whose outer edge there 
hung a great number of spouts — all dancing 
and pirouetting here and there, twisting and 
turning and balancing to partners as if engaged 
in an elephantine quadrille. 

The captain became bewildered, for which- 
ever way he turned his steamer, he was headed 
off by the surrounding waterspouts. At last, 
just as he imagined he had steamed safely 

While the two spouts were having their frolic 
with the sorely beset steamer, the others were 
whirling about as if dancing in glee at the 
commotion they had caused. From the black 
clouds above there shot down blinding streaks 
of lightning, which, although they missed the 
ship, so filled the air about her with electricity 
that it settled upon the metal tips of all the 
spars, glowing and sparkling there steadily with 
the beautiful light known as " St. Elmo's fire." 

Vol. XX.— 42. 


By John F. Ballantyne. 


In enterprise and growth, Chicago is the 
most wonderful city on earth. No other can 
compare with it. There is no tale in the 
" Arabian Nights " half so marvelous as the 
story of its change from a frontier fort into 
the second city on the continent. And all this 
has been accomplished within the memory of 
men who are alive to-day. 

Let me tell briefly what has taken place on 
this spot where Chicago now stands. In 1673 
Father Marquette, a Jesuit missionary, dis- 
covered the upper Mississippi, having reached 
it from Lake Michigan by way of the Fox and 

Wisconsin rivers. He followed its course south- 
ward as far as he dared go, then turned to re- 
trace his steps. He was told by the Indians 
that there was an easier route to the lake than 
that by which he had come, and, heeding their 
advice, he paddled up the Illinois River to the 
Desplaines, and up the Desplaines to a point 
where it flowed close to a stream which the 
aborigines called Checagow, or Eschecagow. 
Here he made a portage, and, following up the 
Checagow, reached Lake Michigan again. 

He was the first white man to set foot on 
Chicago soil. 




Several years afterward La Salle went to the 
Illinois River by way of the Chicago portage, 
and later it became the regular route from 
Canada to the country of the Illinois Indians. 


No settlement was made there, however ; it 
was merely a resting-place. 

In 1804 the United States government, for 
strategic purposes, built and garrisoned a fort 
on the south bank of the Chicago River. John 
Kinzie accompanied the troops, or followed 
them, and established a trading station. He 
was the first white settler. In 181 2 the troops, 
as they were preparing to leave the region, 
were set upon by the Indians and massacred. 
Some of the settlers perished with them, but 
Mr. Kinzie and his family escaped. In 181 6 
the fort was rebuilt, and a new garrison put in 
charge, and Mr. Kinzie returned and resumed 
his operations in furs. Nothing of moment 
occurred in the next fourteen years, except 
the occasional arrival of settlers, most of whom 
passed on and found homes farther west or south. 

In 1 83 1 the commissioners of the Illinois and 
Michigan canal surveyed and laid out the town, 
naming it Chicago. Prior to that time the 
cluster of huts had been called Fort Dearborn 
settlement. It is not likely that the com- 
missioners were aware of their own wisdom in 
selecting this site, or they might have been 
more generous in allowing it room for growth. 
As it was, they gave it only three eighths of a 
square mile. 

In 1833 the town was formally incorporated, 
and a board of officers elected. The population 
was then about 350. In 1835 ■* had increased 
so greatly that it was found necessary to take 
in enough new territory to swell the area to 
two and one half square miles. 

In 1837 Chicago became a city. It had 

The illustrations on this page are redraw 
Cook County," by 

grown beyond all expectations, and its people 
were becoming ambitious for something more 
than township organization. A charter was 
secured from the State legislature, and the cor- 
porate limits were adjusted to inclose an area 
of ten and one half square miles. 

Peck's "Gazetteer" of Illinois, published in 
the latter part of 1837, made the following 
reference to Chicago : 

" Its growth, even for Western cities, has 
been of unparalleled rapidity. In 1S32 it con- 
tained five small stores and two hundred and 
fifty inhabitants. . . . There are now about 
sixty stores, thirty groceries, ten public-houses, 
twenty-three physicians, forty-one lawyers, five 
ministers, and about five thousand inhabi- 
tants. The natural position of the place, the 
enterprise and capital that must concentrate 
here, with favorable prospects for health, must 
soon make it the emporium of trade and busi- 
ness for all the northern country." 

Mr. Peck seems to have had a glimmering 
conception of Chicago's future greatness, but 
neither he nor anybody else dreamed of such a 
future as has been realized. In 1838 a public 
meeting was held to listen to a joint debate on 
the political issues of the day, between Stephen 
A. Douglas and his competitor for the honor 
of a seat in Congress. It was a great occasion 


for the Chicago of that day, and the meet- 
ing was a large one. Judge Henry Brown 
presided. In introducing the speakers he re- 
ferred to the city's progress. Then, warming 
to his subject, and giving the rein to his ima- 
gination, he uttered these historic words : 

n, by permission, from " The History of 
A. T. Andrews. 




" The child is already born who will live to 
see Chicago with a population of 200,000!" 

The people who crowded the hall were as 
loyal to Chicago, and as hopeful of its future, 
as could be expected in that early day, but — 
200,000 ! He might as well have said 200,- 
000,000. It was absurd ! Shouts of derisive 
laughter drowned the judge's voice. 

Nevertheless, a child born that day was 
only twenty-eight years old when the 200,000 
mark was passed. There were men at that 

To-day, careful estimates place the popula- 
tion at 1,400,000, and the probability is that it is 
above rather than below that figure. The area 
within the city limits is 181 square miles. There 
is over $200,000,000 invested in manufactur- 
ing industries, producing annually upward of 
$550,000,000 worth of goods, and paying em- 
ployees more than $100,000,000. The whole- 
sale business of the city aggregates more than 
$500,000,000, and its commerce more than 
$1,500,000,000. Its meat products alone are 

meeting who lived 

to see a population 

exceeding 1,000,- 

000. Here is a table 

showing the population, at different stages of 

the city's growth, from that time to this : 









... 4,170 

... 7, 5 S0 

. . . 12,088 

. . . 16,859 

■ ■ • 23. 47 

■ • ■ 29,963 
1853 59.130 

1855 So,ooo 

1S56 84,113 

i860 109,206 

1S62 138,186 

1864 169,353 

1S66 200,418 

1868 252,054 

1S70 306.605 

1S72 3 6 7.396 

1S74 395.4o8 

1876 420,000 

1880 503,185 

1890 1,098,576 

valuedat $130,000,- 
000. The bank 
clearings are nearly 
$5,000,000,000 a 
year. Over $60,- 
000,000 has been 
invested in public schools, whose maintenance 
costs from $5,000,000 to $6,000,000 a year. 
There are 800 private schools, 350 seminaries 
and academies, and four universities. The pub- 
lic library contains nearly 200,000 volumes, and 
has a circulation greater than that of any 
other in the United States. The other libraries 
of the city are estimated to contain over 3,000,- 
000 volumes. There are over goo daily and 
weekly papers and periodicals, and 700 literary 
organizations. There are about 600 churches. 

i8 9 3-] 




Over $300,000,000 has been expended in the 
construction of buildings since 1876, and the 
annual expenditure for this purpose is between 
$45,000,000 and $55,000,000. 

I have said that there is something like 
destiny in this unexampled development. So 
there is; but destiny is merely another name 
for natural law. 

Here was a continent, vast in extent, rich in 
resources, inhabited only by savages, unknown 
to the rest of the world. A daring navigator, 
inspired by faith in a theory, sailed from Spain 
into the unexplored west — sailed until he found 
land. Then came the adventurous of all civil- 
ized nations, hardy men who left their impress 
wherever they set foot. The natives were 
killed, driven away, or subjugated, and the soil 
became the prey of the invaders. These new 
lords of the land warred and negotiated, and 
warred again over the division of the spoils, 
and in the end the continent became Anglo- 
Saxon. Its future was then assured. 

In the center of this continent was a great 
inland water-system, with limitless possibilities 
for commerce. To the terminal point of this 

system all things gravitated. Curiously enough 
nature had made it also the terminus of 
another water-system. To the east and north 
of it lay the 
lakes ; to the 
west and south 
of it the rivers ; 
it was the por- 
tage, the con- 
necting link, be- 
tween the two 
highways. Here 
there was bound 
to be some day 
a city, and its 
increase was 
bound to keep 
pace with the 
growth of the 
territory around 
it — that terri- 
tory more than 


half of a great the great fire started. 

continent. Its existence was to become a com- 
mercial necessity ; its development was to be 




the necessary result of the development of the 

At this central point, therefore, in obedience 
to a power beyond the control of the sturdy 
men who were its instruments, Chicago arose. 
There it stands to-day. It has been prostrated 
by war and by fire, but calamity was powerless 
to check its progress. The same power that 
gave it life and a purpose gave it citizens 
endowed with the courage, strength, endu- 
rance, energy, enterprise, and nervous force 
needed for the maintenance of that life and 
the accomplishment of that purpose. There 
came to it only the daring among men, the 
Norsemen of business. They were capable 
of giving it the position in the commercial 
world that the race of the old Vikings held 
in the world of warriors. This is the whole 
secret of Chicago. 

The first thing that impresses a stranger in 





the city is the magnitude and magnificence of 
the buildings in the business districts. The fire 
of 187 1, the most disastrous conflagration in 
history, was not without compensating fea- 
tures. It gave the world an opportunity to 
show its generosity ; it gave the people of Chi- 

that lay at the bottom of all their under- 
takings ; and, finally, it cleared the way for a 
better class of structures. For a time, it is 
true, buildings were thrown up regardless of 
appearances, of stability, or of anything except 
speed. They were in the nature of shelter- 
sheds. Winter was approaching, and business 
could not be carried on in the open air. 
Neither could it be conducted to advantage 
at points remote from the natural center of 
commerce. It was necessary to provide stores 
and warehouses and offices, and to do so at 
once. Before the debris was cool, while the 
bricks and stones that lay in confused heaps 
all over the burned district were still so hot 
that they could not be handled without gloves, 
thousands and thousands of men set to work 
to rebuild the city. There was no dearth of 
laborers, for in the absence of more congenial 
employment, or in the desire to aid in hasten- 
ing the restoration, an army of 
clerks, bookkeepers, cashiers, 
salesmen, school-teachers, and 
others who had never known the 
use of their muscles, armed them- 
selves with saws and hammers 
and trowels, and gave their ser- 
vices to the master-builders. Be- 
sides, every train that entered 
the city from the East brought 
reinforcements of skilled artis- 
ans. Buildings rose like magic, 
the owners or lessees moved in 
and business was resumed. 
Gradually these temporary make- 
shifts were torn down and re- 
placed by more substantial edi- 
fices, and it is doubtful whether 
a single block that was pushed 
to completion within the three 
months succeeding the fateful 
9th of October now remains 
standing. Indeed, many that 
were built in the next four years, in the expec- 
tation that th-ey would serve for several decades, 
have also disappeared, and the rest are fol- 
lowing in their wake. 

It was in 1876, when the people had re- 
covered in a measure from the effects of the fire, 


cago a chance to show the world the clear grit — or rather of both fires, for there was another 




serious conflagration in July, 1874, — that the 
new era began to dawn. Since then more 
than $350,000,000 has been expended in build- 
ings. With this enormous sum of money at 

terra-cotta or brick, which serves to keep out 
the weather and presents an attractive appear- 
ance. Even where the walls are of solid 
masonry, as is the case with numbers of the 

..--'■' '-■' ' Residence of Mr. George M. Pullman. 


their disposal, architects and engineers had an 
incentive to study and work such as they had 
never had before, and they evolved methods of 
construction far superior to any that had been 
followed in the past. Under the new system 
wood has been discarded wherever iron can be 
made to serve the purpose, and iron is rapidly 
giving way to steel. In the best buildings all 
b)eams and supports are now made of steel, 
which is manufactured into all the shapes 
needed for the framework. No metal is used 
until it has been thoroughly tested by experts; 
in fact, this is true of all the material used. 
The frame is erected entirely independent of 
the walls, which are expected to contribute 
nothing to the strength of the structure. In 
many cases these are merely a thin mask of 

finest buildings, the same frame-plan is adopted. 
Architects now say that there is no such thing 
as an absolutely fire-proof building ; but our 
large structures are made as nearly fire-proof as 
is practicable. Every iron or steel pillar, every 
support, every floor-beam, everything, in fact, 
that can be injured by heat is inclosed in a cov- 
ering of terra-cotta, from which it is separated 
by air-chambers. No ordinary fire would be 
likely to do serious damage to a building so 
carefully guarded. 

The foundation problem used to be a serious 
one. Chicago was originally a low, marshy 
tract of land, and although it is now dry enough 
and raised an average of twelve feet above its 
old level, it does not everywhere afford sub- 
stantial support. Driving piles into the soft 



places was tried, but the results were not satis- 
factory. Big buildings settled so much and so 
unevenly that their appearance was marred, 
and their stability threatened. The post-office 
is a notable example. Its walls are cracked in 
scores of places, and its total collapse is one of 
the possibilities which the occupants have to 
face every day. If it were the property of the 
city, or even of individual citizens, 
it would be torn down. Unfor- 
tunately it belongs to the United 
States ; therefore it stands, a men- 
ace to life, and an offense in the 
sight of all beholders. However, 
so far as local buildings are con- 
cerned, the foundation problem has 
been solved. The present plan is 
to make a sub-foundation of steel 
rails and concrete. The rails are 

speaking of a few characteristic buildings. 
There is the Auditorium, for example, the 
grandest edifice of its class in all the world, and 
a monument to the public spirit of the wealthy 
men of Chicago. A few years ago the idea 
came to a gentleman of means and leisure that 
the city needed an opera house. There were 
theaters in plenty, but not one of them was 

(From photographic prints. By permission of C. Ropp & Sons, 

laid side by side, and close together, until a suf- 
ficiently large surface has been covered, and the 
spaces between them are filled in with concrete. 
Then another layer of rails and concrete is 
placed crosswise on top of the first. A third 
layer is placed on the second, and so on until 
in the opinion of the engineers it will bear the 
required weight. The foundation proper is built 
upon this underground structure. Some of the 
tallest " sky-scrapers " in the city rest upon steel- 
rail beds, and none of them has settled to an 
appreciable degree. 

It is not desirable in a general article of 
this kind to deal very largely with details, yet it 
would be a pity to leave this subject without 


especially adapted for the produc- 
tion of grand opera. He laid the 
matter before the members of the 
Commercial Club at one of the 
monthly dinners ; and it was 
favorably received. Three years 
later the Auditorium was opened 
to the public. The building con- 
sists of five departments, so to 
cwcago.) speak. First there is the Audi- 

torium, or opera house, capable of seating 4000 
people, with an enormous stage, and the best 
mechanical appliances that human ingenuity 
has devised. The acoustic properties are simply 
perfect. Second, there is Recital Hall, a lecture 
or music room with a seating capacity of 500. 
Third, the Auditorium Hotel, with 400 guest- 
rooms, and the most elaborate appointments 
that money could procure. Fourth, the obser- 
vatory tower, from which, on clear days, a fine 
view of the city can be obtained ; and finally, 
the stores and offices, consisting of 136 rooms 
and suites. The main building is ten stories 
high, and the tower ten higher. The total 
height is 270 feet. The street frontage, on three 



(From a photograph by J. W, Taylor.) 



(From a photographic print. By permission of C. Ropp .! 
Sons, Chicago.) 



(From a photograph by J. W. Taylor.) 



(From a photographic print. By permission of C. Ropp & Sons, 





streets, is over 700 feet. The first and second possessing. It has been said that this build- 
stories are built of granite, and the remaining ing " is representative of Chicago as a city, 
eighteen of building-stone. The interior ma- where art, beauty, and utility are so strongly 
terial is iron, brick, terra-cotta, marble, and defined, though nearly always blended, on every 
various kinds of hard wood. The floors are of side." 

mosaic, made up of 50,000,000 pieces, each put The Masonic Temple, whose twenty stories 

seem to reach up into 
the clouds, owes its 
existence to the desire 
of the various masonic 
bodies to get together 
under one roof. The 
idea of a grand temple 
had been talked of for 
twenty years or more ; 
but no beginning was 
made until four years 
ago. One day, about 
the close of 1889, a 
meeting was held to 
consider the subject, 
and a committee was 
appointed and author- 
ized to " go ahead." It 
did go ahead, and in 
the spring of 1892 the 
temple was dedicated. 
Like the Auditorium, 
like most of the finer 
buildings in the city, its 
interior is rich in mar- 
ble and mosaic. Exte- 
riorly, the first three 
stories are built of red 
granite; the others of 
gray brick. A peculiar 
feature of its construc- 
tion is that the first 
eleven stories are fitted 
up for shops, a new 
arrangement which the 
high rentals of ground- 
floor stores has brought about. Between the 
eleventh and sixteenth floors it is arranged for 
offices. Above the sixteenth story everything 



in place by hand. The cost of the building was 
$3,500,000 ; of the ground on which it stands, 

Its immensity, the richness and beauty of its is devoted to masonic purposes except the roof, 
interior decoration, the wealth of marble, and which has been converted into an observatory, 
bronze, and rare woods, the luxuriousness of its Among office buildings, of which there are 
furnishings, all combine to make it a palace a great many, the Rookery takes the highest 
such as no Oriental monarch ever dreamed of rank. Its name is reminiscent. Shortly after the 


fire the city erected a 
two-story brick build- 
ing for temporary use 
as a city hall and court- 
house. It was a cheap 
affair, and soon 
fell into decay. 
The newspaper 
reporters called 
it a " rookery,"' 
and the name 
stuck. Its site 
was leased to 
the owners of 



— Bohemian 
■■_ □. cemetehv. 


~p i 


SrEoNii'ACius Cemetery 

^ -\ 



Parks &Boulevahds. 

v/ohids columbian ex. 

■% DivekseyAve 



Humboldt Park^S WickerPark 


5aii( J ^\.tffa BK jSw,,, ...... 


"^Douglas Pk.< 




the present 
building, and the name seems 
to have gone with the lease. . 
And, by the way, this is not 
the only instance of the kind. 
The " Chamber of Commerce" 
building, an office building that 
rivals the Rookery both in size 
and beauty, derives its name 
from the fact that it stands on 
the site and is partly constructed 
out of the material of the old 
Chamber of Commerce. The 
new Chamber of Commerce is 
now known as the Board of 
Trade building, and is one of 
the finest grain markets, if not 
the finest, in the world. 

The Rookery is an imposing 
edifice, in which granite, marble, 
mosaic, and oak have been used 
to the very best advantage, for 
both durability and appearance. 
It is eleven stories high, and 
contains 600 offices. 

It must not be supposed that these few struc- 
tures represent all the types that are to be found 
in the city. By no means. I have said nothing 
about the mammoth wholesale and retail stores, 
nothing about the warehouses, the social clubs, the news- 
paper offices, the hospitals, the railway stations, the schools, 
colleges, and seminaries; nothing about the churches or 
the dwellings ; I have not even breathed the names of 
the World's Fair buildings. When the readers of St. 
Nicholas come to Chicago, as they surely will come, and 
look upon the miles and miles of stately monuments to 
human industry and enterprise, they will understand how 




■-, (see page 670.) 

(Drawn for ST. NICHOLAS. 

by permission, from the 

map published by Messrs. 

Rand. McNally & Co., 


Garfield BbULE\ftRD 








utterly impossible it is to do 
more than refer to them in 
a general way. 

But the crowning glory of 
Chicago is its park system. 

Suppose old London had 
been encircled 
by a broad drive- 
way, smooth as 
a drawing-room 
floor, thirty or 
forty miles in ex- 
tent, and running 
into and through 
vast and wonder- 
ful parks. Then, 
suppose that the 
city extended 
beyond and all 
about this encir- 
cling belt and its green oases. Something like curred to the right man at the right time, 
that exists in Chicago to-day. and that it should have met with the popular 

I do not know who devised this „ favor and support needed to make 

remarkable system. The ^^ii-ifeS^ ^& ?. its realization a success. When 


J Bite- 

IP'- ' 


curious thing is that 
it should have oc- 

the system was still in its 
infancy, — it is not beyond 





its youth now, — it seemed impossible enough, 
and there were many blind mortals who com- 
plained that the parks were too far away from 
the city to be of use as " breathing places for the 
masses," as the newspapers called the parks. 
No such complaint could be made now. The 
park that is most remote from the center of 
the city is still more remote from the city limit 
that lies beyond it. The most extensive park and 
boulevard system known threatens to become, at 
no distant date, altogether too small for Chicago. 

the West Park Board obtained 566 acres 
which they divided into Douglas Park, Gar- 
field Park and Humboldt Park. At the 
time, Lincoln Park was in the extreme north- 
eastern corner of the city, Jackson and Wash- 
ington Parks at the southeastern, while a line 
drawn from Humboldt Park through Garfield 
Park, and terminating in Douglas Park, denned 
the western limit. A dozen or more smaller 
parks, varying in size from half an acre to 
twenty acres each, and scattered throughout 


The original plan, which has never been 
departed from, was to establish large parks in 
the outlying region to the north, west, and 
south, and connect them by a series of boule- 
vards. The requisite legislation for the crea- 
tion of three park boards — one for each division 
of the city — and for the levying of an annual 
tax was secured, and the work was begun. 
On the North side, the Lincoln Park Board 
got possession of the old city cemetery and 
enough contiguous property to make up the 
250 acres now known as Lincoln Park; the 
South Park Board purchased 1037 acres 
which they converted into Washington Park, 
Jackson Park, and the Midway Plaisance; 

the city, bring the total area of park lands up 
to about 2000 acres. This does not include 
the boulevards, which are about thirty miles 
long. These are now completed, forming the 
finest driveway in the world. With a good 
team of trotters a person may start from the 
Lake Front Park, in the center of the city — 
and opposite some of the best hotels — drive 
south on Michigan Avenue Boulevard to 
Thirty-fifth street; thence to Grand Boule- 
vard, which leads to Washington Park; 
through Washington Park, westward, to Gar- 
field Boulevard, and thence to Gage Park; 
through Gage Park and north on Western 
Avenue Boulevard and Douglas Boulevard to 




Douglas Park; thence along the western and 
northern extension of Douglas Boulevard to 
Garfield Park; along Central Park Boulevard 
to Humboldt Park; north and east by Hum- 
boldt Boulevard and Diversey Avenue Boule- 
vard to Lincoln Park ; and south along the 
Lake Shore drive, Rush street, and Michigan 
Avenue to the starting-point. He may make 
this circuit in an afternoon, and return his 
horses to the stable in good condition. The 
roadway is so smooth, and the going so easy, 
that the same team might make the trip twice 
a day and be none the worse for it. 

It is not unlikely, however, that a stranger 
would have to make several attempts before 
he could accomplish the entire distance in the 
specified time. There is so much on the way 
that is worth seeing, and the parks are so 
interesting and attractive, that the temptation 
to make long stops at short intervals would 
be too great to be resisted. Broad, velvety 
green fields, beautiful shade trees, artificial 
lakes which afford facilities for boating in 
summer and skating in winter, ornamental 
beds of rare flowers, greenhouses filled with 
tropical plants, serpentine walks and drives, 
combine to lure people from the noise, and 
dust, and worry of a crowded city. The con- 
servatories are especially rich in their variety 
of plants. Among the specimens to be seen 
in that at Lincoln Park are a sago palm more 
than a century old, brought from Mexico, a 
tree fern fifteen feet high, and a date palm. 
Much attention has been given to the cultiva- 
tion of water lilies, and almost every known 
variety is now to be found in the ponds. The 
Victoria regia, whose leaves spread out to a 
breadth of six or seven feet and turn up at the 
edges, giving them a tub-like appearance, has 
been very successfully grown. Garfield Park 
has the largest collection of orchids. 

I have no hesitation in saying that with the 
young, Lincoln Park is more popular than any 
other, or, indeed, than all the others. It is not 
so much its beauty, although it is unsurpassed 
in that respect, as its fine collection of wild 
animals that forms the attraction. The members 
of the Lincoln Park Board seem to understand 
children, and for their benefit have acquired 
quite a large menagerie. Among other animals 

it has a small herd of buffaloes, — one of the 
few bunches left to remind us of the countless 
thousands that once roamed the Western plains. 
There are also deer of several kinds, bears, 
wolves, lynxes, wildcats, rabbits, prairie-dogs, 
guinea-pigs, and even white rats and mice. It 
once had a large drove or school of sea-lions, 
which made night hideous to the entire North 
side with their peculiar and incessant barking. 
Some died, others made their escape to Lake 
Michigan, and now only two or three specimens 
remain. Two large African lions occupy one 
of the cages. 

Another attraction in this park, to grown 
people as well as to children, is the electrical 
fountain. This fountain usually plays for two or 
three evenings a week during the summer, and 
it draws thousands of spectators. In this park, 
also, is the equestrian statue of Grant, which 
was erected by popular subscription. A large 
bronze statue of Lincoln occupies the most 
prominent position near the southern entrance. 
Statues of Shakspere, Schiller, Linnaeus, and 
La Salle, and one of a group of Indians, are 
also to be found there. Others intended for 
this park are now in the hands of the sculptors. 

It may interest some of the boys who read 
St. Nicholas to know that Lake Michigan 
teems with perch, which seem not only willing 
but anxious to be caught. The entire lake- 
front of the city, for a distance of about twenty 
miles, is protected from the waves by a line of 
breakwater, upon which, when the wind is 
westerly or southerly, thousands of men and 
boys, and sometimes women and girls, may be 
seen with rods and lines trying to lure the little 
fellows from the watery depths. I do not know 
whether perch-fishing is a sport or an industry; 
it partakes of the nature of both. If you wish 
to get the best fishing, take passage on one of 
the little pleasure-steamers that lie opposite the 
Lake Front Park, and go out to the govern- 
ment pier, or breakwater, a mile from the shore. 
You need not encumber yourself with fishing 
tackle, for you will find on the pier men who 
make their living by renting rods and lines, and 
selling minnows for bait. The charge is trifling. 
It is not an unusual thing for boys to catch, in 
a few hours, strings of fifty or sixty perch each. 
Sometimes men are as fortunate, but not often ; 




boys are always luckier than men in fishing. 
I remember one day seeing a very nice old gen- 
tleman sitting on the pier with his grandson, a 
little boy not more than seven years old. The 
gentleman was an expert angler, knew all about 
trout and black bass and maskalonge, and had 
gone out to give the boy his first lesson in sport. 
It was sport — for the boy, and also for the 

water that are well stocked with bass, pickerel, 
and pike. The State line which divides Indiana 
from Illinois — from Chicago, in fact — runs 
through the middle of Wolf Lake. These lakes 
used to be famous breeding-grounds for wild 
ducks, and some still breed there, though the 
numbers have greatly diminished. In the spring 
or fall, however, ducks stop there on their 

! : ! 


spectators. The boy caught a fish at least once 
every minute or two, but his grandfather never 
got a bite. 

Chicago, by the way, is very favorably situ- 
ated for sport both with rod and gun. One need 
not go beyond the city limits to get either game 
fish or game birds. I have said that the area 
of the city is 181 square miles, but it must not 
be supposed that all this territory is covered 
with buildings. The open spaces are rapidly 
diminishing, and in time will disappear, but 
there still remains a large unoccupied tract to 
the south and southeast, in which are located 
Calumet Lake, Hyde Lake, and about one 
half of Wolf Lake, three small inland bodies of 

northern or southern flight, and furnish good 
shooting for a few days. The only drawback 
is that the place is too accessible ; a street-car 
or any one of half a dozen suburban trains will 
take the sportsman within easy walking-distance 
of the lakes. The consequence is that there are 
too many shooters, and the lakes are " burnt 
out " ; that is to say, the birds are frightened 
away from the country by the noise and smoke. 
The lands near to these lakes are low and 
marshy, and make good feeding-grounds for the 
jacksnipe, so called ; really his name is " Wilson's 
snipe." There is no finer sport than snipe-shoot- 
ing, and good bags are frequently made on 
these grounds. In this advantage Chicago is 




probably unique ; it is not likely that there is 
another large city that can furnish duck- and 
snipe-shooting, and occasionally goose-shoot- 
ing, within its corporate boundaries. 

Thus far, except for this digression into the 
lakes and fields, I have spoken only of the 
material development of the city. But there 
is a higher development, the intellectual and 
moral, the progress in literature, art, and science. 
Just as the material growth of the city is the 
result of the material growth of the conti- 
nent, so this intellectual growth is the result 
of the material growth. One follows the other 
as naturally as day follows night. 

A few years ago Charles Dudley Warner 
visited Chicago, and after a stay of several 
weeks wrote his impressions. He praised the 
enterprise and energy of the people, but con- 
fessed that they lacked the culture of their 
brothers and sisters in the East ; they had been 
too busy to devote much time to polish. How- 
ever, he said that if Chicago ever gave its mind 
to that subject it " would make culture hum." 

I suppose Mr. Warner, by this jest, meant to 
imply that if Chicago people sought to acquire 
culture, they would acquire it with a rush. More 
recently, discussing the future literary center 
of the United States, Mr. Warner said : 

Boston cooks better than it once did; it also is rich, 
and more than half of its population is foreign. Is its 
literary publishing and production on the wane ? And is 
it about to pass on the torch of literature to New York ? 
Why not to Chicago ? This is an imprudent question, 
for if the attention of Chicago is attracted to this open- 
ing, if it is convinced that literary supremacy is a good 
thing to have, it will snap it up in twenty-four hours. 
But while the attention of Chicago is otherwise engaged 
there is a chance for New York. 

It is likely that Mr. Warner had written more 
wisely than he knew. Chicago moves, and has 
always moved, by impulse. Its career has been 
a series of impulses. The commercial impulse 
gave it being, and made it the second city in 
the country in a period briefer than the lifetime 
of an ordinary man. The building impulse 
made it in less than twenty years the best-built 
city in the world. Now there are unmistakable 
signs of literary, art, and scholastic impulses. 
They are surely coming. If, as its citizens be- 
lieve, Chicago is destined to be the metropolis 

of the continent, then it is also destined to be 
the center of literature, of art, of education, of 

There has sprung up in the city within a year 
one of the greatest universities in America, en- 
dowed with millions of money, and equipped 
with instructors selected from the world because 
of their especial fitness for the work in hand. 
Only the other day, as it were, one of Chicago's 
wealthy men conveyed to a board of trustees a 
building which he had just completed at a cost 
of $1,500,000, and with it gave his check for 
$1,400,000 with which to equip and maintain 
it as an industrial and scientific institute. Libra- 
ries have been founded and endowed, and have 
grown with a growth that has nowhere else 
been seen. The Chicago Public Library, 
founded little more than twenty years ago, has 
acquired a circulation greater than that of any 
other in the country. The Newberry Library, 
endowed by the bequest of a citizen, is becoming 
one of the great reference libraries of the world. 
The Crerar Library, endowed by the will of 
another deceased citizen, is in process of forma- 
tion. The largest single purchase of books that 
was ever known — 300,000 volumes — has just 
been made for the library of the Chicago Uni- 
versity. The private libraries of the city are 
little known to the public, but they will com- 
pare favorably with the finest collections of 
New York, or Boston. The largest and most 
complete bookstore in the world is in Chicago. 

The newspapers have been as marvelous in 
their development as the city itself, and from 
these newspapers, from the ranks of their re- 
porters and editors, are coming writers whose 
strong and virile work will make a lasting im- 
pression upon the literary world. 

Chicago has a way of attending to a great 
many things at once. 

All things are possible in a city situated as 
Chicago is situated. Impelled by the force of 
natural law, it will become the center of in- 
dustry, of commerce, of art, of literature, of 
science, and of education. Not one century or 
two centuries hence, but to-morrow, in a year, 
in ten years — when the impulse shall be felt — 
all this will come to pass. 


By Jack Bennett. 

Abijah Stone strolled off alone 
While yet the morn was hazy ; 

The neighbors' boys made such a noise, 
They almost drove him crazy. 

I love my country well," said he, 

" But think it is a sin, sir, 

To spoil July's sweet jubilee 
By making such a din, sir ! " 

So, in a nook beside a brook, 

Serenely sound asleep, sir, 
Abijah lay the livelong day, 

Curled in a little heap, sir; 
While in the town the brass bands 

And cannon boomed like thunder, 
Until a very small boy made 

A most tremendous blunder. 

For, just at dark, he dropped a spark 

Where sparks are very worst, sir ; 
A blinding flash— a frightful crash — 

A powder-keg had burst, 
Abijah found but scattered shreds 

When he returned to town, sir, 
And people standing on their heads 

Where they had just come down, sir 

Vol. XX.— 43. 


By Mrs. C. V. Jamison. 

Aitt/ior of "Lady Jane" 

\Begnn in tfie May member. ] 

Chapter VIII. 


When Dea reached the small cottage on 
Villere street, where she had passed most of 
the years of her sad little life, she pushed open 
the creaking gate impetuously, and, closely fol- 
lowed by Homo, ran swiftly up the grass-grown 
brick walk to the door. 

" Papa, Papa," she called, placing her lips to 
the key-hole, "it 's me — it 's Dea. Do let me 
in — quick ! " 

After a few moments of impatient waiting, 
the child heard a slow, listless step approach- 
ing, and a hand that seemed weak and trem- 
bling turned the key and opened the door 
cautiously. In the aperture appeared a wan, 
bearded face with hollow eyes and tangled hair. 

'' Papa, oh, Papa, just see what I 've got! " 
cried Dea, darting through the narrow opening. 
" I 've sold Quasimodo, and I 've brought you 
something to eat." 

The man looked at her silently, in a dazed, 
helpless sort of way, pressing his hand to his 
head as if he were trying to collect his thoughts 
and awaken his memory. 

The child was breathless and exhausted from 
her running; but she closed the door, set down 
her basket, and then hastened to open one of 
the blinds, for the room was nearly dark. Then, 
drawing a chair up to a large table which was 
covered with books and papers, as well as a 
number of small wax figures in different stages 
of progress, she cleared from one corner of it 
the numerous articles of her father's craft, and 
spreading out the napkin containing the food 
that Seline had given her, she turned to her 
father, and putting her arm around him, led 
him to the chair and gently seated him. 

For a moment he looked at the food silently, 
while the tears rolled slowly down his thin 

cheeks. " Is it for me ? " he whispered, at 

" Yes, Papa; it 's for you — it 's all for you." 

" No, no. You must eat it, Dea ; you are 

'• I have had my breakfast, Papa. This is for 
you. Eat it, and see how nice it is," urged the 
child, as she selected a tempting morsel, and 
held it toward him. 

" I 'm not hungry ; I can't eat. I 'm too ill 
to eat." 

" Dear, dear Papa, do try ! I brought it for 
you. And I have sold Quasimodo ; look, cher, 
look at the money." She put her arm around 
his neck, and held the note before him. " Is n't 
it lovely ? Just look ; five dollars — twenty- 
five francs. We sha'n't be hungry again. Oh, 
dearest, sweetest Papa, wake up ; try to forget 
your poor head — try to eat and get well"; and 
Dea pressed her anxious little face against his 
hair, and caressed him fondly. 

For some time he sat staring at the money, 
his weak frame shaking with a tearless sob. " It 
is gone," he groaned at last. '• I worked day 
and night on it. It was the best thing I ever 
did, and this little piece of paper is all I have 
for it." 

" Oh, Papa," cried the child, with a sharp 
note of sorrow in her soft voice, " don't think of 
that ! You can do another as good. Think of 
me, be glad for me, get well for me. I love 
you, I love you ! Try to eat ; do try. This is 
nice bread, and this is the cheese vou like." 
And as coaxinglv and as tenderly as one would 
treat a sick child, she broke the food, morsel by 
morsel, and put it to his lips. 

He did not resist, but ate with pitiful docility, 
and evidently with little relish. When he would 
take no more, Dea gave the fragments to Homo, 
who was watching the result with great interest, 
as though he was wondering in his dog's heart 
why his master had to be urged to eat. Then 




she brought a plate, and, putting the remainder 
of the food on it, she covered it with the nap- 
kin, and set it away for another meal. After 
that, she went to her small room, and slipping 
off her kerchief and scarf, she put on a long 
apron that entirely covered her frock. The 
frock had been one of her mother's, and she 
was very careful of it. Then she proceeded to 
tidy up the small neglect- 
ed chambers. She was 
so little and frail that 
the broom in her hands \ ' t 

seemed out of all pro- 
portion, yet she handled 
it with wonderful dexter- 
ity. She swept and dusted 
and arranged everything 
with the utmost care ; 
then she returned to the 
room where her father 
sat with his hollow eyes 
still fixed on the note, 
his face full of pain and 

" Let me put the money 
away, Papa," Dea said 
cheerfully, " and to-mor- 
row I will get you every- 
thing you want. Now 
I will arrange your table 
and dust your books." 

There were books 
bound in leather, and 
books bound in cloth ; 
some had paper covers, 
and some had no covers 
at all ; they were large 
and small, thick and 
thin, old and new ; but, 
strange to say, every 

book bore on its title-page the name of Victor 
Hugo. Some were beautifully illustrated Paris 
editions, and their illustrations had suggested 
certain figures and costumes to the artist in 
wax, while other studies had been designed 
and colored entirely by himself, and were the 
very careful and correct work of no common 
talent. Under glass cases on a side table were 
some exquisite groups, and on the wall hung 
several medallions of a lovely female head in 

different positions, as well as a number of stud- 
ies of a child all of which bore a remarkable 
resemblance to Dea; and it was not difficult 
to imagine that Dea's mother had served as 
the model for the medallions. 

While Dea arranged the table and dusted 
the books, she talked incessantly in a low, coax- 
ing voice. At first her father paid little atten- 


tion to her; then gradually his eyes brightened 
and his face showed an interest, while from 
time to time he passed his hand over his fore- 
head and eyes as if he would brush away some 
object that clouded his vision. 

It seemed as though Dea, by repeating what 
she said, at last impressed the subject on his 
wandering mind, and claimed his attention 
almost by force and in spite of himself. 

"Do you understand, eheri" she said, im- 




pressively. " To-morrow the kind monsieur will 
buy Esmeralda ; then we shall have fifty francs, 
and fifty francs will last a long while. We can 
have a cutlet and salad for dinner, and old 
Susette can come and work for us again." 

" Fifty francs ! Are you sure, Dea, that we 
shall have fifty francs?" he interrupted with 
some interest. " Then I can buy some colors. 
My ultramarine is all gone, and I need some 
rose-madder. I have to color some more wax, 
and I must have some colors." 

" You shall, Papa ; I '11 buy you some to- 
morrow. You can have everything you want," 
returned Dea, proudly. 

" Can I, my child ? Do you think I can ? Can 
I have the Hachette edition of ' L'Homme 
qui Rit ?' * There are some fine illustrations in 
it that I should like to copy." 

Dea's little face fell, and her soft voice fal- 
tered. " I don't know, Papa. I '11 see. I '11 " 
ask at the shop on the Rue Royale. If it isn't 
too much I '11 try to get it." 

" It ought to be had for fifty francs," said the 
artist, dreamily. 

" But Papa, dear, we can't spend the money 
for books when we have no bread." 

" Fifty francs, fifty francs," he repeated com- 
plainingly — "and I can't have the Hachette 

" Yes, you can, some time. We are going to 
be rich. Listen, Papa, while I tell you. The 
good monsieur who bought Quasimodo is an 
artist ; he paints pictures instead of modeling 
en cire,\ and he will pay me to go to his house 
and sit for him while he paints a picture." 

" But you are not strong enough to stand 
that, Dea ; you can't ! " exclaimed the artist, 

" He will pay me, Papa, and then I can buy 
the book." 

" Oh, well, if you can buy the Hachette, 
perhaps you may go." 

Dea turned away her head and smiled 
faintly. " Pauv' papa!" she thought, "he will 
consent to almost anything for one of Victor 
Hugo's books. 

" But, Papa," she continued entreatingly, as 
she took one of his long, thin hands in hers 
and stroked it fondly, " I wish you 'd let the 
* " The Man Who Laughs " — one of 

painter come here and see your groups. He 
might buy one, and they will bring so much 
more than the little figures. Can't he come 
here and see them ? " 

" Here, Dea ? — here in this house, where I am 
buried? — a stranger here, and I so ill, so poor? 
No, no, child ; you are thoughtless, you are 
cruel. I will never open my door to any one 
but you." And he glanced around restlessly 
and anxiously, as if he feared that the stranger 
was about to effect an entrance. 

" Well, never mind, cher," said the child, 
soothingly ; " he sha'n't come here if it dis- 
pleases you. I will take them to him. You 
can pack them carefully and I will take them." 

" Yes, you can take them to him ; and I will 
go to work now and finish something." 

In nervous haste he arranged his lamp with 
its thick shade, selected his wax and small 
tools, and seated himself at the table with a 
magnifying glass adjusted over his eye. He 
was a tall man, and handsome in spite of his 
illness ; his face was intellectual, and his man- 
ners refined and gentle ; and as he worked 
swiftly and skilfully, Dea leaned over the table 
and watched him with fond pride. 

After a while, when the room was quite dark, 
the child arose and closed the blinds softly; 
then she went into her father's room, which 
was next to hers, turned down his bed-cover, 
drew his mosquito-bar, and placed a carafe of 
fresh water on the little table. "Pauv' papa," 
she thought, as she went about the room in 
a gentle, womanly way, " I hope he will sleep 
to-night, and not groan and walk as he did 
last night. I must try to get the book ; he will 
be so happy if I get him the book." 

When she had finished her preparations for 
his comfort, she went to say good night to 
him ; and as she kissed him she whispered anx- 
iously, "Don't sit up late, dear Papa; try to 
sleep to-night, won't you?" 

" You 're a good child, Dea," he said ab- 
sently as he tenderly returned her caress ; " go 
to your bed and don't worry about me. I must 
work now, and later — later, perhaps, I will try 
to get some rest." 

Some hours after, when Dea was sleeping 
the peaceful sleep of childhood, her father 

Victor Hugo's novels. 

tin wax. 




entered her room softly, glanced at her tran- 
quil little face, and at Homo stretched before 
her bed ; then going to his room, he took his 
hat, with a band of rusty crape around it, and 
went quietly out into the sweet moonlit night, 
closing and locking the door behind him. 

Chapter IX. 


The next morning, when Philip, rosy and 
fresh after a long night's sleep, ran to Pere 
Josef for his lessons, he found the gentle little 
priest already seated at his books and with 
his empty coffee-cup before him. 

" Mammy thought I 'd be late ; I did n't 
want to wake this morning," said Philip, after 
the usual salutations were exchanged. 

"No, my child, you 're in good time; the 
clock is just on the stroke of six," replied Pere 
Josef, closing his book with an air of preoc- 
cupation; " and I 'm glad you 're punctual, for 
his reverence the archbishop has sent for me 
to come to him at nine o'clock. I could not 
sleep this morning, wondering what such a 
message betokens. I was up long before 
dawn, and I thought that idle boy would 
never bring me my coffee." 

While Pere Josef was speaking, with some 
signs of irritation in his usually placid voice, 
Philip's bright eyes were glancing around the 
plain little room as if they were looking for 
something ; at length, failing to see the objects 
of his search, he asked eagerly : " Where are 
they, Pere Josef? where are the white mice 
this morning?" 

"Mes enfants? Oh, they were so troublesome, 
so really wicked, that I was obliged to put them 
in prison. ' Blanche ' would sweep the dust all 
over my books, and ' Boule-de-Neige' * covered 
herself with coffee. Instead of taking her lump 
of sugar properly, — would you believe it? — 
she jumped into my saucer to help herself, and 
came out with her silky white coat quite soiled. 
Oh, dear, dear! it was because I was worried 
that they behaved so badly. They thought I was 
not noticing them." 

" But, Pere Josef, where are they ? Can't I 
see them a moment before I begin my lessons?" 
asked Philip, coaxingly. 

" They are locked up in my cupboard, in the 
dark. When their spirits are too turbulent, 
darkness is the only thing that subdues them. 
Perhaps I have to blame myself for their 
wickedness, and I don't wish to excuse myself 
for my folly ; I don't want any one to follow 
my example." Here Pere Josef leaned toward 
Philip and whispered mysteriously, " I should n't 
like any one to know it, my child, but I 've been 
teaching them to dance ! " 

" Oh, Pere Josef, how funny that must be ! 
Do let me see them dance." 

" I can't ; I can't make them dance now " ; 
and Pere Josef glanced around furtively. 
" They won't dance without music, and — and 
I could n't play the flute in broad day with the 
windows open." 

" Do you play the flute, Pere Josef? " asked 
Philip, his blue eyes full of mirth. " How 
pretty it must be to see your children dance 
while you play the flute ! " 

" Yes, it is very amusing. I feel young 
again when I play the flute for them. It was 
long ago, when I was a boy at the seminary, 
that I learned to play, and I was enchanted 
with it; but when I took orders, I had to give 
it up." 

" But why did you have to give it up, Pere 
Josef?" asked Philip, with gentle sympathy. 

" Because, my dear child, when we give 
ourselves to good works we must resign many 
things that only amuse us. I loved my flute ; it 
came between me and my duties, and I gave it 
up. For years and years I never saw it. Now 
I am an old man, and I take it out again ; I 
confess it with shame"; and a flush of contrition 
passed over Pere Josef's pale, narrow face. " My 
child, I confess it with shame, I love it as well 
as I ever did; and, strange to say, I am secretly 
glad because I remember all the old tunes, and 
I 'm playing them to teach my children how to 
dance. You 're a good, discreet boy, and you 
won't repeat my confidences. While I 'm speak- 
ing of it, I may as well tell you of my fears 
which prevented my sleeping last night. It 
seems strange, this summons from the arch- 
bishop. Do you think he can have heard of 
my folly — my levity, and has sent for me to 
reprove me?" 

" Oh, Pere Josef, you 're so good ! " cried 

* Snowball. 




Philip, warmly; "the archbishop won't reprove 
you for a little thing like that." 

" I trust not ; I hope not. Still I am anxious. 
His reverence may have heard of it, and he 
may think that I am not attending to my duties; 
but, my dear boy, I have been very careful not 
to allow my children to interfere with my work, 
and I have never played on my flute except 
late at night or very early in the morning 
when others are sleeping." 

" If no one heard you," said Philip, wisely, 
"no one could have told the archbishop; so 
I would n't be unhappy about it, Pere Josef." 

"Eh Men ! I shall know soon. In the mean- 
time, I think my poor children have been pun- 
ished enough. I will let them out for you to 
have a little glimpse of them before you begin 
your lessons. They are charming this morning." 

As he spoke, Pere Josef went briskly into 
his little sleeping-room, and presently returned, 
bringing a small wire cage in which were a 
number of tiny white mice. As he set the cage 
on the table, the lively little animals began to 
scamper and scurry from one side to the other 
of their small house, their little upright ears and 
pink eyes looking very alert and mischievous. 

" Oh, look, look ! " cried Philip ; " they are 
playing Colin- Maillard." * 

"The little rogues! — their punishment has 
not done them the least good ! " said Pere Josef, 
standing off and looking at them admiringly. 

Suddenly one of the tiniest seized a small 
broom, made by cutting short the handle of a 
brush for water-colors, and began sweeping the 
floor of the cage furiously, making a great fuss 
and confusion as she scattered her compan- 
ions to the right and left. When she had fin- 
ished this domestic duty to her satisfaction, she 
shouldered her broom and trotted off on her 
hind legs to stand it carefully in one corner. 

"Is n't Blanche amusing this morning!" said 
Philip, as he hung enraptured over the cage. 
"And look at poor Boule-de-Neige, with her 
little coat all coffee-stained ! How unhappy she 
seems ! Now, Pere Josef, can't you drill them 
for just a minute ? I have n't seen them drill 
for ever so long." 

Pere Josef could not resist the temptation 
to show off the accomplishments of his chil- 

dren, so he seated himself, and, with his thin, 
dark face close to Philip's rosy cheeks as they 
pressed near the cage, began in a clear, dis- 
tinct voice an exercise which they followed 
exactly — marching in single file, closing up, and 
facing to the right or left as they were or- 
dered, standing erect on their little hind legs 
and going through their manoeuvers with the 
greatest gravity and precision. 

Philip was almost beside himself with de- 
light; — they were wonderful, they were enchant- 
ing! And while he and Pere Josef watched 
their antics, they paid no heed to the flight 
of time. After they had finished their minia- 
ture drill, Pere Josef softly, and with several 
nervous glances in the direction of doors and 
windows, whistled an old waltz; and straight- 
way the tiny sprites began to step and whirl 
in time to the tune. And never did Pan in a 
sylvan dell pipe to merrier little elves than 
these ; and while Pan piped and the elves 
danced, Philip's books lay neglected, and Pere 
Josef had forgotten the summons of his rev- 
erence the archbishop. 

Suddenly the little priest started up, and 
looked at his clock in dismay; he had spent 
nearly an hour amusing himself with his " chil- 
dren." Taking a red-and-yellow silk handker- 
chief, he threw it resolutely over the cage, and 
turning to Philip he said, " Come, come, my 
child! — we are wasting our time, and that is 
wrong. The little rogues are so fascinating 
that I forget where I am when I watch them. 
Perhaps, after all, the archbishop would do no 
more than his duty if he reproved me for such 
a foolish infatuation." 

Philip took his books reluctantly, and as he 
tried to study he seemed to see the pets of Pere 
Josef dancing and whirling among the letters. 

When the clock struck eight he was obliged 
to leave ; so he hurriedly picked up his books, 
and went away without ever thinking of the 
question he had intended to ask Pere Josef. 

Chapter X. 


Mr. Ainsworth was sitting at his easel in 
his improvised studio on an upper floor of the 

* Blindman's-buff. 




high house on Rue Royale. Although it was 
only a temporary arrangement, the room was 
really lovely. On the walls, which were artis- 
tically draped with rich foreign stuffs, were a 
great many charming sketches. About the 
room, on tables, on brackets, and even on the 
floor, were bright-colored jars and pots filled 
with palms, ferns, and various slender-leaved 
graceful plants, which gave the place a cool 

... I I '•■. 


bowery effect. There were pictures on the 
easels, old china and bronzes on the shelves, 
books and magazines scattered about in the 
negligent fashion affected by artists. On a 
low sofa, covered with a Turkish rug, lay his 
young wife ; she was slender and dark, and 
her thin cheeks had a feverish flush. One 
hand was under her head, the other held a 
book at which she did not even glance. She 
wore a loose white woolen gown heavily em- 
broidered with black, and a rich black shawl 
was folded over her feet. She would have 
been handsome had she not looked so ill and 

unhappy ; from time to time she coughed and 
moved restlessly. The sofa was drawn up to 
an open window, through which the soft spring 
air entered, gently rustling the slender spikes 
of the palm that shaded it. 

Mr. Ainsworth was putting the finishing 
touches to a pretty bayou scene ; he was work- 
ing very busily. At length he looked up and 
said anxiously, " Is n't there too much draft 
from that window, Laura ? " 

" No," she returned in a weak, fretful voice ; 
" I can't live without air. As it is, I can scarcely 
breathe indoors." 

"Are you feeling worse this morning, 
dear?" questioned Mr. Ainsworth, 
gently, still touching his picture 
carefully and deftly. 

" I don't know, really. I 
feel so ill all the time. 
It seems as if my weak- 
ness increased." 

" My darling, you 

are fretting yourself to 

death. Try to rise above 

your sorrow. Try as I do. I 

try to forget ; I try to work." 

" I can't forget, Edward, I can't forget," 

was the reply. " I don't wish to forget. It is 

six months to-day since we lost him — our boy ! 

Oh, what have we done to be so afflicted ? " 

she cried mournfully. 

" Dear Laura, don't speak of it so bitterly. 
Cheer up for my sake, this heavenly spring 
morning. Listen to the birds singing in the 
court below, smell the perfume of the orange 
blossoms, the jasmine, the roses. Look at the 
sunlight on the roofs, see how the golden rays 
burnish that royal magnolia in the garden 

" There are no singing birds, no perfumes, no 
sunlight for him!" she cried with a passionate 
burst of tears. 

"Think of life instead of death; think of 
other children who live, and only live to suf- 
fer; think of the sad life of that child I bought 
the wax figure from yesterday." And Mr. 
Ainsworth glanced at Quasimodo standing in 
state on a bracket, with a piece of royal purple 
velvet behind him. " The little girl interested 
me, Laura, but not so much as the boy did. 




Don't think I 'm fanciful, but it seems to me 
that he looks remarkably like our boy. He is 
about the same age; and, strange to say, his 
name is Philip." 

" The same name ; that is a singular coinci- 
dence," said Mrs. Ainsworth, rising languidly, 
and looking slightly interested ; " but I don't 
see how a little gamin can resemble our boy." 

'• My dear, he does n't seem a little gamin ; 
he seems singularly gentle and refined ; but you 
will see for yourself. I think they will come 
this morning. The poor little girl is so anxious 
to sell Esmeralda, and the boy was so inter- 
ested when I told him about my pictures. You 
should have seen his blue eyes light up." 

" Has he blue eyes ? " 

" Yes, that deep, violet-blue like our boy's, 
and the same thick, curling brown hair; of 
course his clothes were plain, but they were 
clean, and he looked so fresh and sweet, — a 
child that any one could love." 

Even while Mr. Ainsworth was speaking 
there was a timid knock at the door; and when 
he answered it, there stood the two charming 
little models, shy and tremulous, but with a 
determined expression on each small face. 

" You see, I 've brought Dea," said Philip, 
sweetly elated at his success. He looked very 
handsome : he was warm and rosy, and the 
heavy curls lay in damp rings on his white fore- 
head. Toinette had dressed him in his best 
suit — a white linen shirt and new blue trousers; 
he held in one hand a straw hat, and with the 
other he clasped Dea, as if he feared she might 
escape even then. 

The little girl's softly tinted face was very 
expressive, her eyes were full of expectation 
and surprise, her lips were parted in a faint shy 
smile. She looked healthier and happier, and 
altogether very lovely. With one hand she 
clung to Philip, and with the other she carried 
the small basket in which Esmeralda's fanciful 
costume and the gilded horns of her goat 
made a bright bit of color. 

Mr. Ainsworth's face beamed with satisfac- 
tion as he led the children to his wife. " Here, 
Laura," he said, smiling — "here are my little 
models. What do you think of them?" 

Mrs. Ainsworth did not notice Dea, but her 
dark eyes rested on Philip with a strange be- 

wilderment of pain and surprise. She did not 
speak, but after a moment of silence turned 
away her head and, covering her face with 
her thin hands, began to cry passionately. 

" She sees the likeness as I did," thought 
Mr. Ainsworth, as he led the two children to 
another part of the room : he did not wish 
them to be distressed by the sight of his wife's 
sorrow. With great tact he first sought to 
amuse and interest them by friendly little at- 
tentions. He showed them his curios, his 
pictures, his flowers ; he gave them fruit and 
bonbons; he slipped a five-dollar note into 
Dea's basket, and installed Esmeralda on the 
bracket beside Quasimodo ; and, after a while, 
when they were quite at home, he put a fresh 
canvas on his easel and posed them for a 
study. Philip was a little restless at first; he 
wished to see the actual picture-making, and 
would have preferred to watch Mr. Ainsworth 
at his work. But Dea stood like a small statue ; 
she was accustomed to it, she had patiently sat 
many an hour for her father. 

While Mr. Ainsworth painted, completely 
absorbed in his fascinating little subjects, Mrs. 
Ainsworth drew an easy-chair near the children 
and sat silently looking at Philip. Mr. Ains- 
worth wished to make their first visit so agree- 
able that they would like to come again; 
therefore while he worked he chatted pleasantly 
to them and encouraged them to talk freely to 
him in return. He was interested to know by 
what means the artist in wax had been brought 
to consent to his proposal. After several dis- 
creet questions he drew from Dea the shy 
avowal that she had come to earn the money 
to buy the Hachette edition, and that her 
pauv' papa had allowed her to sit for the 
painter in the hope that she would get him 
the much coveted book. 

While Dea told her touching little story, Mr. 
Ainsworth glanced at his wife; she was looking 
at Philip, but she was listening to Dea. There 
was a softer expression on her face. 

At last, after a fairly long sitting, the artist 
told his little models that he was done with 
them for the morning. 

" We must go now," said Philip, with linger- 
ing and longing looks at the canvas, on which 
there already appeared a fair sketch of himself 



68 I 

and his little companion. " I 'd like to stay 
and watch while you paint, but I can't to-day. 
Seline is taking care of my flowers, and I must 
go and sell them." 

" And Homo is asleep under her table," 
joined in Dea. " I told him to wait for me." 

'• But you will be sure to be here to-morrow ? " 
said Mr. Ainsworth, looking from one to the 
other. " Here is your pay for being such good 
little models," and as he spoke he handed a 
bright silver dollar to each. 

Philip smiled delightedly. "Thank you, mon- 
sieur," he said ; " I would have to sell flowers 
all day to make as much." 

Dea's little face was a study ; she turned 
the dollar over and over, and looked at it as 
though she doubted her senses. "A dollar — 
five francs! " she said joyfully. " Oh, monsieur, 
is it enough to buy the book ? " 

" No, my dear, I think not ; but when you 
come to-morrow I will see what can be done." 

'■'And, monsieur, may I — may I bring one 
of papa's groups for you to look at ? " asked 
Dea, hesitatingly. "There 's one of the 'Toilers 
of the Sea.' It is very pretty. May I bring it ? " 

" Why, certainly, my dear. I should like to 
see it. If I don't buy it, some friend may." 

" But, monsieur, it is very dear ; papa says 
it is worth a hundred francs. It is large, you 
know — as large as this"; and Dea held her small 
hands apart to give some idea of the size. 

" It 's too large for you to bring, is n't it ? " 

" Philip will help me," she said confidently. 

" Yes, I '11 help you, Dea. It 's too big for 
a girl like you, but it 's not too big for me." 
Then, turning politely, he held out his hand 
to Mrs. Ainsworth. " Good-by," he said sweetly. 

Mrs. Ainsworth took the little brown hand 
and drew the boy close to her; for a moment 
she looked into his eyes, then she put her arms 
around him and kissed him. Dea came forward 
and also received a kind caress. It was kind, 
but it was not like the kiss she had given Philip. 

" They are charming," she said, looking at 
her husband with a smile — the first he had seen 
for many a day. 

u Au rcvoir, monsieur," said Dea at the door. 
Philip was half-way down-stairs in his impa- 
tience to show his dollar to Seline. "Au revoir. 
I will bring the 'Toilers' to-morrow." 

( To be continued. ) 

"IP-" ' 


■ ■ j ' 




By Grace W. Soper. 

" Enough of 
books ! Now 
for fun, girls ! " 
Sharp whispers, 
clear, joyous, 
and energetic, 
went down to 
the farthest al- 
coves of the 
quiet college 
library. Then 
all the readers 

The Lodge, Wellesley College. at the tables 

looked up and smiled; but the hint was taken, 
and in a moment there was a rush of girls 
through the library doors into the hall. College 
students though they were, all the girls talked 
at once. 

" The refreshment committee say that we are 
to have ice-cream this time." " Oh, how 
delicious ! " " Who 's to pour chocolate ? " 
" What are you planning to wear ? " " Have 
the rugs been placed in the halls ? " 

" Oh, girls, the decorations are lovely! All 
the riches of the Orient are there — curtains, 
bric-a-brac, and screens. Even the Fraulein's 
elevators are gorgeous ! " The girls laughed, 
for it was funny to be reminded of the mistake 
of the dear little German professor, who in- 
sisted upon becoming warm at her " elevator," 
meaning " radiator." " Oh, I hope it will be 
a success ! " sighed one girl anxiously. " Of 
course it will," another assured her. " In social 
affairs, system is necessary ; so we have our 
committees of refreshment, of decoration, and 
of reception." " And an obliging faculty to 
make sure of a good time ! " " Good-by ! " 
called out one girl to another, as they separated. 
" Good-by ! Auf wiedersehen ! which, being 
interpreted, meaneth ' See you later ! ' " they 
called back in gay banter. 

You might have known, listening to the talk, 

which was chiefly exclamation and laughter, 
that there was to be a party, or a reception, or 
some other kind of festival in the great college 
that day ; and if you are to be a college girl, 
you will like to hear what happened, and what 
is likely to take place when you are living the 
happy life at Vassar, or Wellesley, or Smith, or 
Bryn Mawr, or at any other college which affords 
to girls the blessed privileges of learning. 

The festival about which the girls were talk- 
ing was an afternoon reception offered by 
the faculty to the junior class. Standing in the 
hall, which was bright with decorations, the 
president and some of the professors met their 
guests, and then presented them to the juniors. 
It was a great privilege for the girls to meet the 
visitors. In happy little whispers, they would 
now and then say to one another that they 
could never forget that afternoon. " Just 
think ! I have been talking to a real live 
bishop ! " "I have met one of the greatest scien- 
tists in the country." " A famous poet has been 
telling me about her girlhood." All their 
lives these girls would be proud to remember 
conversations with famous men and women. 

One of the prettiest college festivals that I 
ever saw was the celebration of Tree Day at 
Wellesley College. About the class-tree seats 
were arranged upon the greensward. One seat, 
higher than the rest, was marked by a beautiful 
purple banner embroidered in gold with the 
motto and date of the class. This was to be the 
seat of the class president, or, as it was called, 
the " Throne of the Princess." Soon the seats 
were filled by the college students. First came 
the "specials," who were dressed as gay Japa- 
nese girls, in loose robes and big bows bunched 
behind. How their fans fluttered, and how 
bright were their parasols ! Then followed the 
sub-freshmen in dark blue, the college color, 
with daisy girdles. 

The sophomores appeared as nuns, robed 

68 3 




in black and white, with cords of clover blos- 
soms about the waist. A horn was heard 
blowing clear over the campus. Soon a merry 
band of girls in green came running forth at 
the summons, and this was joined by another 
band and then another. These were the juniors 
pretending that they were Robin Hood's fa- 
mous hunters. The freshman class were Greek 
maidens, clad in loose, white robes such as 
Nausicaa wore, at that famous game of ball 
about which all college girls like to read. The 

the role of Tennyson's " Princess," and would 
hold court. "With much ceremony, gifts were 
offered, after which speeches were made. I 
confess that I do not remember all that was 
said, but there were these words spoken : " We 
are to give now rather than receive. We are 
to be, by doing. We are to grow stronger by- 
helping the weak ; to grow more courageous 
by encouraging the faint-hearted ; to grow no- 
bler by lifting up one high ideal in the sight of 
all the world." 


seniors appeared finally, robed in purple gowns 
and caps, as dignified as one would expect 
girls to be who are about to say farewell to 
college days. The senior president seated her- 
self upon the throne. Lively little heralds 
called the names of the classes, and then the 
responses came in cheer after cheer of clear, 
ringing voices, — such hearty college cries of 
English, Latin, and Greek words and letters 
dancing together, with one grand end to each 
cheer — " W-e-1-l-e-s-l-e-y ! " 

After the tumult had died away, it was an- 
nounced that the senior president had taken 

Farther down the lawn was a newly planted 
tree for the freshman class ; it was only a bun- 
dle of twigs with a leaf or two at the top, but 
the Princess gathered her court about it with as 
much ceremony as if it had been the noblest 
oak of the forest. There was again much 
speech-making, followed by the transfer of a 
spade from the sophomores to the freshmen. 
The exercises ended in a graceful dance about 
the tree. Whatever the court etiquette, there 
was no doubt that all the girls had a " royal 
good time." 

Nearly all girls' colleges celebrate a Tree Day, 



68 5 


though not always in fancy dress. Many col- 
leges have other special days which are much 
enjoyed. Miss M. Carey Thomas, the Dean 
of Bryn Mawr, writes me of " an annual en- 
tertainment offered in the autumn, about the 
middle of October, by the sophomores to the 
entering freshman class, in which, with appro- 
priate ceremonies, a lantern is given to each 

freshman. This lantern is supposed to light her 
through the ' group system ' of studies ! Very 
soon after, the freshmen invite the sophomores 
to an entertainment." How much more reason- 
able is this pleasant greeting from sophomores 
to freshmen than were the rude hazing customs 
of old days in young men's colleges ! 
The day which brings the pleasantest memo- 





ries to Smith College graduates is Mountain 
Day, celebrated, as its name implies, by drives 
and walks to the beautiful hills and mountains 
about Northampton, Massachusetts. A Smith 
girl tells how the festival is enjoyed every 
October: "It was the custom, at first, for each 
class to form an excursion party, but as the 
classes increased in size, this plan was given 
up. Now, the students form parties from four 
to twenty in number. Walking parties are nearly 
as numerous as the driving parties." 

The Annex maidens, who dwell in Cambridge 

mers have a custom of sitting up all night, it 
was evident that something more unusual and 
even livelier had happened. The pretty recita- 
tion-room held odd groups of chairs ; Professor 
Maria Mitchell was a little fatigued, though as 
witty as ever, and Professor Whitney, who has 
since taken Professor Mitchell's place, had a 
manner of pleasant reminiscence, as if she en- 
joyed " talking things over." I soon learned 
that a " Dome Party" had been held the day 
before, given to the junior and senior members 
of the astronomy department by the professors. 


near Harvard College, have many clubs. Chief 
of these are the Idler Club, the English Club, 
the Music Club and the Glee Club, and the 
Emmanuel Society. In the pleasant parlors of 
the Fay House, the home of the Annex, many 
learned questions are discussed amid light gos- 
sip over cups of tea. 

Once, during a visit at Vassar College, in 
the lovely month of June, I noticed an air of 
festivity in the little building devoted to the 
astronomical department. Although astrono- 

All who had been fortunate enough to be pres- 
ent were glad to tell how they had been the 
most envied of mortals. 

For several days before the party, an air of 
preparation had hovered over the Observatory. 
The guests had been invited to contribute poet- 
ical morsels for a feast of original verse, and 
the professors had had the rapt air of poets. At 
half-past eight on the eventful morning, juniors 
and seniors, with faces as bright as the June 
sunshine, walked eagerly to the Observatory. 




There they were welcomed warmly by Profes- 
sor Mitchell and Miss Whitney, who invited 
the guests promptly to a breakfast in the dome 
and the meridian-room. At first there was a 
hush. The religious dimness of the dome, the 

When the breakfast was finished, Professor 
Mitchell made a little speech in which she said 
that a literary feast would follow. Then, amid 
good-humored laughter, each student heard 
herself praised in poems written by her beloved 





smm0 - 


fact that the great telescope was over their 
heads, and the presence of the distinguished 
and good woman who was the honored hostess 
and professor, gave a strangeness to the social 
festival. But a look at the dainty tables soon 
dispelled all restraint, and the girls' subdued 
tones grew louder and more confident, while 
many merry laughs echoed under the vaulted 
roof. At the plate of each girl was a bouquet 
of fresh June roses from Professor Mitchell's 
garden. How often had the girls proved the 
beauty of the garden's flowers and the generos- 
ity of the giver ! Once, when the complaint 
had come that flowers had been picked in the 
college gardens, and the students had been 
reproved, Professor Mitchell had come with a 
warm-hearted invitation : " My apple-tree is in 
bloom, girls. Take all the blossoms that you 
want." These roses, souvenirs of a delightful 
occasion, would be held more precious than all 
the college flowers, and would be kept for years 
in love of her who gave them. Besides the 
roses, there were strawberries and many deli- 
cious viands, well relished by the groups of 
girls at the little tables. 

professors. There were epigrammatic sonnets 
on those whose names would rhyme, and 
bright essays on those whose names could not 
be put in verse by any possibility of twisting 
and turning. Music varied the poetry, as a 
choir, seated on the steps by the great telescope, 
sang songs written for the occasion, and made 
the dome resound with selections on many 
kinds of musical instruments. 

At the close of a delightful morning came the 
" Maria Mitchell" song, famous among all Vas- 
sar students, ending with the refrain, " Good 
Woman that She Is!" Although the "Dome 
Party" still remains a bright festival at the close 
of the college year, the gracious presence of 
Maria Mitchell no longer is the inspiring force 
of the happy day. 

The "Dome Party" was called the "Mecca" 
of the Vassar student in astronomy. 

A festival equally unique and famous at 
Vassar College takes place in the middle of the 
sophomore year, and celebrates the end of the 
course in trigonometry. The girls are so glad 
to be through with this branch of mathematics 
that they present an original drama or opera 




in which the death of " Trig " is duly noticed. 
Such a play was the " Mathematikado." " Trig 
Trig" and "Ayty Ayt " were the chief people 
in a funny romance. " Bot Ah Nee " carried 
on a philosophical courtship, and "Three Little 
Ayty Nines " were dear little maids at school. 
A glimpse of college life is given in a song 
describing the offenders " who never would be 
missed " : 

ing to learn what girls, far from their homes in 
quiet college walls, did for costumes. Those 
who acted men's parts wore men's coats over 
short velvet skirts, and looked as boyish as pos- 
sible. " Dr. Faustus," in the play written for the 
ceremonies, was a tall girl with a deep voice, 
and she looked stately and dignified in a stu- 
dent's gown bordered with fur, and in a becom- 
ing cap. The bad angels wore pink gauze with 


There 's the pestilential nuisances who did n't come 

for work, 
Who cut their classes every one, and all their duties 

shirk ; 
All tender invalid students who half their classes miss ; 
All persons who, in taking ex., take exercise like this ; 
All friendly ones whose lengthy calls we hardly dare 

resist, — 
They 'd none of 'em be missed — they 'd none of 

'em be missed. 

All girls who speak so low in class you can't hear 

what they say ; 
All who propositions twist, I 've got 'em on the list ; 
All girls who bring their shawls to class, yet shiver 

every day, — 
They never would be missed — they never would be 


On one occasion, a long dramatic piece 
called "Dr. Faustus" was given. It is interest- 
Vol. XX. — 44 

pink wings, and the good angels wore white 
gauze with white wings, and nobody could tell 
which were prettier. "Algebra," an important 
personage, wore black embroidered with white 
algebraic signs, with x y z and their equations. 
" Geometry's " black gown was ornamented 
with white geometrical figures — squares and 
circles. There were many harrowing scenes 
in " Dr. Faustus," and the audience was duly 
terrified, except when the thunder (immense 
dumb-bells), came rolling across the stage, and 
every one laughed. 

The Philalethean Society at Vassar is a 
source of delightful social life, and its various 
Chapters are active in literary, dramatic, and 
other exercises. 

The festivals about which I have told you, 




take place on dry land, but there is a fete 
celebrated on the water, which is one of the 
loveliest of all. It is the "Float Day" of Wel- 
lesley College. Each class has a boat-crew dis- 
tinguished by a picturesque uniform. At about 
seven o'clock in the evening, the crews march 
down the college steps and across the lawn to the 

As it grows dark, lanterns are lighted round 
the lake, and calcium lights illumine the courses 
of the boats. Soon two boats shoot out from the 
circle, and the cry is heard : " A race ! '91 ! '93 ! 
'93 ! '91 !" Then again there is quiet, and over 
the water comes the sweet song : " Good night ! " 

At all colleges, the great festival of the year 


lake. They then take their places, one by one, 
in the boats, and as they pull off from shore, each 
crew gives its yell. A star and circle are formed 
by the boats upon the lake, and then comes the 
college cheer, which, as one girl says, " is echoed 
in the heart of every Wellesley student, and is 
rivaled only by the frogs." With sweet music on 
the water, the crews enchant all their hearers. 
A song, called " I Doubt It," has a popular col- 
lege version, of which the following is a stanza : 

If you were a freshman, and plied a great oar 

Which had nothing spoony about it, 
Do you think you would row like a practised senior ? 

Well, maybe you would, but I doubt it. 

is Commencement, when the seniors receive the 
approval of the college at the end of an honor- 
able course of study. ° Even the pretty new 
gowns, or the caps and gowns which are worn at 
Bryn Mawr, fail to take away the sadness of 
this occasion. The festival is as stately as pos- 
sible. The baccalaureate sermon first teaches 
the graduating class the solemnity of the Com- 
mencement time, and charges all who go forth 
into the world to hold fast to the pursuit of 
what is noblest, highest, and best. Then comes 
the Commencement concert, and finally the 
great day upon which degrees are conferred. 
The Doxology is sung with fervor, but there 




are tears in the eyes 
of many of the 
graduates, for they 
realize that in the 
world festivals may 
be hardly earned, 
and must be very 
different from the 
careless, happy days 
at college. 

Much might be 
said of the smaller 
parties which can- 
not be described un- 
der the name of 
" festival," yet which 
are enjoyed by the 
students even more 
than the larger and 
more elaborate enter- 
tainments. In one 
week of October there 
were at Smith Col- 
lege a sophomore re- 
ception, which "went 
off in a blaze of 

lights, banners, and pretty costumes," a musi- recreation, about which you would like to hear, 
cale, and a large number of Hallowe'en par- perhaps ; but some day you will enjoy them 
ties, masquerades, germans, and flower-parties, for yourselves, after passing those dreaded 
Other colleges have many bright evenings of entrance examinations. 



By Clinton Scollard. 

// 7/ rain ! It '1/ rain .' 
Says the peacock's shrill refrain, 
Ere the heaven shows for sign 
E'en a single leaden line. 
See! a silvery shudder now 
Runs along the poplar bough, 
And recurrent ripples pass 
O'er the reaches of the grass. 
Low the swallows circle over 
Rosy fields of scented clover ; 
Willows whiten in the lane — 
7? 'II rain ! It II rain ! 

It 7/ rain .' It 7/ rain / 
Watch the shifting weather-vane 
Veering from its dreams of drouth 
Toward the veiled and showery south ! 
Now the eye of day is hid 
Underneath a lowering lid, 
And the heaven feels the lash 
Of a goading lightning-flash. 
Peals a bell with soft insistence 
Clearly down the darkening distance, 
And the peacock cries again — 
It 7/ rain .' It 7/ ram .' 


By Lida C. Tulloch. 

Every morning through the summer, 
From her little garden spot, 

Saidie brings me pretty clusters 
Of the flower forget-me-not. 

But the name seems hard to Saidie, 
Or does not her fancy please, 

For she always says : " Good morning 
Here are some remember me's." 


By Marian Gehring. 

Boom, boom, boom, 
boom, from the bass- 
drums. R-r-r-r-rat-a- 
tat-tat, rolled the 
snares. Crash ! from 
the whole great mili- 
tary band ; and the 
long lines of blue-uni- 
formed Swiss soldiers 
swung in fours through 
the narrow streets of Lucerne, and climbed 
the hill leading to their daily parade-ground, 
where the mountains stand forever on guard 
over the lovely blue lake below. 

The music beat against the mountains, was 
echoed from the city's broken walls, and floated 
upward to the houses on the hill, till suddenly 
the sound reached an open casement window 
and acted as an electric battery upon a boy of 
eleven years, who was lying stretched upon a 
couch, with his head buried in a magazine. 

A bound from the sofa was the response to the 
musical message. A bewildered whirl around 
for his cap, a rush from the room, a clattering 
assault of the stairs, — five minutes later a down- 
ward plunge, and there shot from the door an 
elastic figure in dark blue. The boy had a 
clanking sword at his side, a cartridge-box 
strapped upon his back, and a pistol in the 
leather belt. In his right hand was an air-gun, 
the staff of a small American flag was in his 

left, and a soldier's cap upon his round, blond 
head, which was carried with military erectness. 

This much-accoutered figure made its way 
up a steep path, through a gap in a wall, leaped 
a low fence, squeezed through a narrow open- 
ing in the hedge, and found itself in the rear of 
a gray, stone villa, which with closed blinds 
stood quite vacant and deserted, high above 
the lovely little city clinging to the shores of 
Lake Lucerne. 

The paths were overrun, the shrubbery neg- 
lected ; but the flying feet were not impeded by 
the tangled grasses on the unshorn lawn, and 
made their way quickly to a strip of greensward 
close beside a wall which barred the encroach- 
ments of neighboring invaders. 

Upon the other side, Swiss regiments were 
quickly forming into position for their daily 
drill. Mounted officers galloped over the field, 
officers upon foot with waving swords were 
marshaling their men, the band stood in readi- 
ness for the bugle-calls, and the daily discipline 
had begun. 

On the villa side of the wall the American 
flag had been carefully given into the charge 
of a small tree — as standard-bearer; the gun, 
cartridge-box, and pistol had been deposited 
beside a great ivy-grown rock; and a gallant 
boy-officer, with lifted sword, was drilling an 
imaginary company, with the aid of constant 
glances at the other drill over the wall. 




The sun crept high in the heavens, and the 
long, monotonous din of drilling went on and 
on, through one of the summer's hottest days. 

The men's faces were flushed and expression- 
less ; the officers' brisk movements were evi- 
dently conscious efforts. But on the further side 
of the-wall, though the boy-soldier's pink cheeks 
became crimson and perspiration had reduced 
the linen collar to abjectness, spirit and courage 
held the day, and military discipline was being 
rigidly maintained. 

A group of officers suddenly came upon the 
field, making their way where a clump of trees 
against the wall cast a welcome shadow. The 
trees also concealed their approach from the 
patient little soldier, who was at that moment, 
with desperate stiffness of bearing, going through 
the manual in unison with the glittering line of 
soldiers just beyond. 

The group suddenly stopped as they came 
upon the little figure, which presented to their 
eyes a very comical appearance. The com- 
manding officer, with a warning gesture of 
silence, stepped quietly from behind the trees, 
and as the boy wheeled, facing the wall, he was 
met by the most astounding situation of his 
life ; for there stood the colonel of his favorite 
regiment and a whole group of officers, in 
shining uniforms, looking sternly down upon 

His hand went instinctively to his cap, in 
the long-practised military salute, and in a dizzy 
whirl of proud rapture, which turned his crim- 
son cheeks pale for a moment, he saw his 
salute gravely returned ! 

" Halt ! " exclaimed the colonel, in German. 

The little figure stood motionless in soldierly 

" Zu welchem Regiment?"* came from the 
gray mustache, and with the intoxication of 
this bewildering experience thrilling every nerve, 
there came in quick response from hurried lips: 

"I — I am — an American citizen! " 

The colonel coughed violently as he beckoned 
his officers nearer, saying in excellent English : 

" What then have we here ? Is America 
sending her citizens to learn our military tactics 
behind walls ? Sometimes we call such people 
spies. Do you know what happens to spies ? " 

* " Of what regiment ? " t ' 

The boy stood very erect, with tightly com- 
pressed lips, but replied fearlessly : 

" You shoot them. I have drilled here with 
your regiment three weeks ! " 

"Ach so.'"} ejaculated the colonel gravely. 
" A bad case ! Shall we shoot him on the spot, 
or court-martial him ? " 

" Put him through the manual," suggested an 
officer, whose laughing eyes sent a reassuring 
message to the boy's wide-open and somewhat 
startled gaze. 

u Sc/irgut,"$ assented the colonel. " Attention ! " 

The boy grew cold with apprehension. He 
felt, for the moment, that shooting would have 
been a merciful plan in comparison. Then some- 
thing within him, perhaps a drop of inherited 
courage from heroes of his race, rose to rescue 
him from entire humiliation. Placing himself 
in position, he gritted his teeth, and with a cold 
moisture stealing on his brow, held himself in 
readiness for the commands. 

A nightgown drill with a walking-stick in a 
soldier-uncle's bedroom in far-away New Eng- 
land, coupled with an unusual aptitude for all 
things military, had produced quite remark- 
able results under the three weeks' drill ; and 
the officers, at first merely amused, became 
deeply interested in seeing how much accurate 
knowledge had been retained by the mind of 
so young a boy. 

" Ach .' I wish half my company would listen 
as well," growled a young captain; and the 
colonel's face forgot to be military, and grew 
fatherly, and the drill closed with a hearty 
salute from the officers. 

" Well, my young American citizen, I suppose 
you think you will bear arms for your country 
some time ? " said the colonel, leaning upon the 
wall and drawing the boy kindly toward him. 

" I hope so," replied the boy ; " we have 
only a very little regular army ; and I try to 
learn all I can over here so I can go right 
ahead when the time comes." 

" Well, what do you mean by keeping so 
few soldiers ready to defend your country ? 
What would you Americans do if a great force 
should come over to fight with you ? " 

" Why, beat 'em — as we 've always done," 
replied the boy, serenely. 

■ Indeed ! " t " Very good." 





A mighty laugh gurgled and rumbled under 
the big mustaches. The bugle sounded, and 
as the colonel turned away he laid his hand 
on the boy's shoulder, saying solemnly, " I pro- 
mote you to the position of Chief American 
Citizen in my regiment." 

No honor was ever more proudly borne ! 
The initials " C. A. C." were braided upon the 
breast of the small blue jacket by an indulgent 
mother, and few days passed during the long, 
happy summer without the faithful drill behind 
the wall. 




face, he quite forgot his embarrassment. By her 
questionings she soon drew from him the use 
he had made of her grounds ; and he was soon 
eagerly telling about his promotion, and the 
great necessity of keeping up his drill, lest the 
colonel should think him ungrateful, or maybe 
even a deserter. 

The conversation was a long one, for she 
led him upon the piazza, and the situation was 
discussed over a dainty luncheon otKuchen £ — 
a conversation begun on one side in imper- 
fect German, and ending on the other in im- 
perfect English, but through which a perfect 
understanding was secured ; and after his name 

As they rode from the parade-ground, the 
colonel and the group of officers learned to ex- 
pect the parting dip of the American flag from 
the little color-bearer stationed at the gateway, 
and they never failed to respond with a grave 
salute. — Chief American Citizen in a Swiss 
regiment was indeed an unparalleled honor. 

A week after that day of days, when the 
C. A. C. — as he preferred to be called — went 
leaping through the hedge, as usual, he nearly 
fell into the arms of the very tallest and largest 
lady he had ever seen. His first thought was 
of a possible giantess ; his second, of his cap, 
which flew briskly off as 
he begged her pardon 
in very boyish German. 

"JSin Soldat ! " * ejac- 
ulated the lady, with a 
smile of growing amuse- 
ment, as she viewed him 
from head to foot. 

"7(7, Madame" t he 
murmured confusedly, 
seeing suddenly that the 
closed villa had come to 
life. Windows and doors 
were wide open, draper- 
ies were fluttering, rugs 
and couches were vigor- 
ously beaten by a busy 
group of servants. A 
gardener was attending 
the lady, as she over- 
looked her neglected 
premises, when the sud- 
den apparition of the 
little soldier startled her 
from her peaceful mood. 

The invader looked up 
at the imposing figure be- 
fore him with a sudden 
choking in the throat, 
realizing that he no long- 
er had any right in the 
beloved old garden; and, 
with a murmured apology, he was turning to re- and residence were ascertained, he was dis- 
treat when the lady spoke again with such a missed with the promise that his privileges 
winning kindness that, gazing into the gentle, should not be withdrawn if he would consider 
* "A soldier ! " t " Yes, ma'am." \ Cakes. 





himself detailed as " special guard " over the 
lady's premises. 

But when, as he was just ready to bound 
from the steps with an unburdened heart, a 
servant addressed his companion as Baroninn, 
he felt as though the world brimmed over with 
surprises, and fell a-wondering, as he turned 
homeward, if a baroness were of that size, what 
must a queen be like ! 

From that hour the great lady had a devoted 
sentinel. Stray dogs, cats, and urchins were 
driven from the newly cleaned lawn at the 
point of the sword. Visitors at the villa were 
curiously amused at the sudden appearance, 
now and then, of a pygmy " guard " at the baro- 
ness's gateway. Upon seeing her at her morn- 
ing coffee on the piazza, he always appeared to 
receive the orders for the day ; and the lonely, 
childless old lady, whose heart lay buried in a 
soldier's grave, found her days brightened by 
entering heartily into this vividly enacted child- 

They held long military discussions ; the 
situation in Germany was carefully reviewed; 
and when the baroness told the lad of her only 
son's gallant death at Sedan, — of how he had 
fallen in ignorance that the hour of Germany's 
triumph had come, — the boy felt that he had 
almost been there himself, and shaken the old 
Kaiser's hand ! 

And then it happened one day that a chance 
came really to serve his gracious lady. It came 
in this way. The baroness often wore in the 
garden on afternoons a very beautiful and 
costly shawl, dear to her as the last gift from 
the ever-mourned hero of Sedan. 

As she rose hastily one day to return to the 
house, it had softly fallen to the back of her 
chair in the arbor, and was lying there quite 

The C. A. C, book in hand, but, as usual, 
with his soldier's cap and sword, reclined on 
the grass in a favorite nook near by, where low- 
hanging branches quite concealed him from 
view. Suddenly he heard voices, and peering 
under the branches, saw two villainous heads 
rising above the wall. He saw them quickly 
duck down, cautiously rise, and go down again, 
while a muttered conference went on. 

Suddenly, one fellow leaped the wall, and 

* " The soldiers ! 

lying flat on the ground, wormed his way 
toward the shawl, whose beautiful folds draped 
from the chair promised a valuable prize to the 

The watcher under the trees, leaning far 
forward, following the thief s movements, sud- 
denly saw the object of the stealthy advance, 
and his heart stood still. He knew the shawl's 
history, and how dear it was to his kind friend 
the baroness. 

What should he do ? Could he reach the 
house and return with help before it would be 
gone ? Such a little boy ! Two such ugly- 
looking thieves ! 

The man's hand was already outstretched to 
grasp the booty. Something must be done. 
Creeping softly from beneath the branches, the 
little fellow suddenly drew his sword from its 
scabbard, and leaping high in the air, crashed 
the screening branches with the shining blade, 
shouting with all the force and gruffness he 
could command : 

" Hi, there ! " 

"Das Militar! Das Militar/"* screamed the 
startled rogue, scrambling to his feet as he 
caught a flash of the gleaming blade and heard 
the clank of the dangling scabbard. 

Running desperately to the wall, he threw 
himself headlong over it, scrambled frantically 
upon his feet, and dashed after his already flying 
comrade in a frantic retreat across the parade- 
ground. The shouts and crashing of branches 
followed them as they ran with every nerve 
strained to escape the armed force they felt in 
hot pursuit. In one convulsive backward look, 
to see if escape was wholly hopeless, they saw 
a sight that suddenly arrested their desperate 
flight, and caused a torrent of abuse to pour 
forth in deepest gutturals ; for there, perched 
upon the wall, waving his sword in frantic 
triumph, dancing in a perfect frenzy of delight, 
and shouting: " Das Militar J Das Militar.'" 
with peals of derisive laughter — stood their 
small outwitter! 

They gave one lurch toward him, as though 
to resume their attempt ; then, shaking their 
fists with vengeful emphasis, slouched quickly 
down a narrow alley leading into the lower 
city. A moment later the boy victor, with 
quickened breath and very red cheeks, after 
The soldiers I " 



vainly trying to fold the rescued ' shawl, 
proudly marched across the lawn, up the steps 
of the villa, and directly into the baroness's 
presence. After telling his story, which was 
received with a burst of German ejaculations, 
fervent hand-claspings, and head-shakings, he 
presented the rescued trophy, with a grave 
salute, as " the spoils of war." 

The entrance from the glare of the sunshine 
into the baroness's shaded parlors, coupled with 
his intense excitement, made the eager boy 
overlook the fact that his hostess was not 

After warmly thanking him for the service, 
and heartily praising his courage and presence 
of mind, she laid her hand upon his shoulder, 
and walked beside him down the long room, 
saying : 

" Captain Enderby, 
allow me to present my 
'special guard.' Mein 
junger Freund, George 
Bourne Ainsworth, von 
Amerika." * 

A tall figure rose 
from a deep lounging- 
chair in the soft gloom, 
a fine soldierly-looking 
old man, with white 
hair, and a thin, dark 
face, who extended his 
hand to the lad with 
kind cordiality. 

" Captain Enderby," 
continued the gracious 
hostess, " was for many 
years in her Majesty's 
service in India." 

" So that 's what they 
call an Anglo-Indian," 
thought the boy, with vi- 
sions of elephant- and tiger- 
hunts whirling through his brain. 
He placed his hand in the ex- 
tended one, and looked wonderingly 
up into the benignant face. 

The old soldier, who had been an amusei 
and interested listener to the dramatically re 
* My young friend from America. 

lated adventure, kept the boy's hand in his, 
and drawing him beside his chair asked how 
an American boy could leave his republic to 
come among the kingdoms of Europe. 

" It was hard," George admitted , " but I 
don't mind being in Switzerland, because it 's 
an older republic than ours, anyway. But I 
was very glad we came over in a German 
steamer, for I don't wish to see England till 
we have a bigger navy." 

"Why — is n't your navy a first-class one ? " 
asked the old officer, with a twinkle in his eyes. 

George looked at him with a touch of sus- 
picion. The small size of the American navy 
compared with England's was a source of deep 
mortification to the C. A. C, and he was al- 
most sure he was being laughed at, — but he 
answered respectfully : 




6 9 8 



" Perhaps we don't need a large navy, because 
we can always do our beatings on the land." 

"Ha, ha!" laughed the old man. "Are you 
quite sure you are not one of General Gage's 
troublesome Boston boys left over from the 
last century ? Come here, Alice, and make the 
acquaintance of an American boy, who evi- 
dently knows about some differences of 
opinion of a hundred years ago. 

And then there entered, 
through a swept-aside portiere, 
the very loveliest young lady 
George had ever seen. She 
was slender and very graceful, 
with lovely dark eyes and 
reddish brown hair 
and as she came 
sweeping forward 
in her soft lace 
dress, and placing 
her hand upon 
the old man's 
arm, said gently, 
" I shall be very 
happy, Grand- 
papa, to know 
an American 
boy," George 
felt that if they 
should tell him 
she was an an- 
gel, it would n't 
seem very sur- 
prising in this 
mysterious house, 
which already held 
a baroness and an 
Anglo-Indian officer ! 

He did n't say that, 
however, but clicked his 
heels into soldierly precision, 
and bowed low. 

After the young lady had heard 
the story from her grateful hostess, 
she said, very sweetly: 

" If I am to be honored by living in a house 
with such a brave ' special guard,' I cannot 
allow his deeds of valor to go unrewarded. 
I bestow upon you my own private mark of 
honor " ; and, drawing a beautiful rose from the 

soft laces upon her corsage, she pinned it on 
his jacket with a tiny silver arrow, saying, as 
she snapped the pin : 

"There! I never give flowers I 've worn — 
unless my whole heart goes with them!" 

Ah, Alice, Alice Enderby ! little did you 
think that those lightly-spoken words of yours 


were soon to become the key to a great situ- 
ation ! 

Very rosy, very erect, and very proud was 
the figure in blue bearing on its breast the dec- 
orations of bravery and b_auty, as it walked 




across the lawn with a soldierly swing which 
broke into a run as it neared the pension * 
in which the father and mother of this dis- 
tinguished American citizen had found a de- 
lightful summer-home. The run became a wild 
gallop as, seeing the good Fraulein busy 
among her roses, he rushed to tell her the won- 
derful adventure of the day. 

This delightful Swiss landlady, of excellent 
family, and finely educated, was an old friend 
of the baroness who owned the neighboring 
villa; and, having been greatly pleased at the 
baroness's kindness in allowing her grounds to 
be used as the boy's parade-ground, she was 
now vastly proud that the favor had so soon 
and gallantly been returned. 

George was the only child in the house, 
and he had quite won her heart by boyish kind- 
ness and attentions; so she warmly entered into 
his various absorbing interests, which from time 
to time arose and claimed attention. The latest 
were the plans to be made for the celebration 
of the coming Fourth of July — the day of days 
for an American boy. 

It so happened, as things sometimes do in 
this world of ours, that George's papa joined 
forces with his country, and had a common 
birthday ! George thought his father very lucky 
to have been born on the national holiday. To 
celebrate these two events properly had been 
the greatest yearly event in the boy's life before 
leaving America. 

George had foreseen difficulties in the way, 
when thinking of how he should celebrate the 
day in a foreign land, and with foreigners all 
about him ; but until the rose was pinned upon 
his breast by those fair English hands, nothing 
had seemed wholly insurmountable. Now he 
pondered deeply over the matter, grew silent 
and abstracted, ceased to speak of the coming 
event, and as he saw Miss Enderby daily, grow- 
ing more and more charmed with her winning 
kindliness, it grew impossible to think of cele- 
brating the Independence of America next door 
to that vision of English loveliness. 

But what would papa think if his birthday 
was deprived of its triumphant character ? So, 
moodily pondering these perplexing questions, 
George sat one day with his arms resting on 
the balcony railing "and his eyes hardly seeing 

the exquisite panorama of mountain and lake. 
There the kind Swiss landlady found him 
when, having in vain questioned the boy's 
father and mother as to the sudden loss of 
enthusiasm over the rapidly approaching day 
of celebration, she had resolved to ask George 
himself about it. 

As to a fellow-citizen of a sister republic, he 
confided to her his conflicting views of his duty, 
with such earnestness that her smothered laugh 
was changed into an expression of tenderness ; 
but she had only time to say, " You dear, 
thoughtful boy ! " before a maid called her into 
the house. An hour later, however, her best 
bonnet was seen nodding dramatically in the 
parlor of the villa, and her kind old face under 
it was full of mirth and mystery as she parted 
from the ladies at the door, who seemed equally 
amused and interested. 

An earnest consultation with Mr. and Mrs. 
Ainsworth followed this visit at the villa, but 
nothing further was said in George's moody 
presence about the coming, long anticipated, 
but now deeply shadowed event. 

The morning of the Fourth dawned upon a 
city which, but for the American flags floating 
here and there, gave no sign that across the 
sea millions of human beings were joyously 
celebrating their holiday. 

George lounged down through the garden ; 
he had almost decided to "cut" drill, take his 
story-book, and go off in the woods, as the 
most absorbing occupation he could devise, 
when Mr. Ainsworth came suddenly around 
the corner of the path leading up from the city. 
Upon seeing his son, he instantly drew back; 
but it was too late. 

" Papa ! " exclaimed George, reproachfully, 
" fire-crackers, when I have n't asked for one ! " 
He lowered his voice, and pointing at the villa 
continued in an explanatory and warning whis- 
per, "British, — over there!" 

" To be sure ! " ejaculated his father, stepping 
back with a pretended expression of surprise. 
"Well, we can save them for next year." 

" But you are quite sure you don't mind 
about your birthday, Papa ! " he anxiously 
asked, twisting one arm affectionately within 
his father's. 

" Of course not," answered his father gravely. 





" Delicate consideration for the conquered is 
the only position a generous victor can take." 

George heaved a deep sigh of relief. " Sup- 
posing," his father continued, " we celebrate the 
day by going in a rowboat, with an American 
flag at the prow, down the lake to ' Tell's 
Chapel,' lunch at the restaurant, and get back 
about five to-night ? " 

That plan seemed to fit the spirit of the day 
to perfection, and the smiling mother and re- 
lieved landlady watched them off with myste- 
rious nods and smiles. As they turned the 
corner Mrs. Ainsworth called down : 

" Five o'clock then ? " 

" To the minute," replied her husband, with 
a backward and meaning wave of the hand. 

The afternoon shadows were falling across 
the lake, and the mountains were of a deeper 
blue, when the two " celebrators," as George had 
joyfully called his father and himself, toiled 
up the hill at the close of that long, happy 
summer's day. 

It had been a great success — this patriotic 
pilgrimage to the very rock upon which the 
beloved though uncertain William leaped from 
the tyrant's boat. 

George's mother met him at the door and 
urged him to hurry and dress for dinner, and 
he was too much absorbed in telling her of the 
day's events to notice her extra care over his 
appearance ; but he did exclaim with delight 
when he found that the cherished initials were 
fastened upon his very best suit. 

And when he saw a knot of red, white, and 
blue ribbon nestled in the laces of his mother's 
corsage, he gave a little bound of delight, ex- 
claiming : 

" Ah, that 's fine ! No one could expect us 
to act as though we were ashamed of the day, 
could they, Mama ? " and he pranced up before 
the long mirror, gazing with great pride at 
the combination of military and civilian attire 
reflected therein. 

" Papa ! where did you get that ? " suddenly 
rushing up to his father, whose coat-lapel bore 
a tiny American flag. 

A tap at the door, and in rustled Fraulein, 
resplendent in her very best dress; and, behold, 
she wore a tiny Swiss flag ! 

" I think we are quite ready," she remarked, 
taking George's arm, which he gallantly held at 
its highest possible angle ; and followed by 
Mr. and Mrs. Ainsworth they slowly marched 
from the house, to the melody of " Yankee 
Doodle " softly whistled by papa, across the 
street, and up the driveway to the villa. 

By the time they were at the gateway, George 
surely knew that something delightful was hap- 
pening, but was determined to maintain a sol- 
dierly composure. His friends proved too much 
for him, however, and his Spartan bearing was 
broken by a wholly unmilitary bound in the 
air, as rounding a great clump of shrubbery he 
saw a sight that at once made him forget the 
lady on his arm, the initials on his breast, and 

" Great Scott ! " 

For there stood the pavilion-like summer- 
house, one lovely expression of American pa- 
triotism ! 

Red, white, and blue buntings wreathed its 
pillars and festooned its sides. Little American 
and Swiss flags made a fluttering fringe from 
its cornice, and from its pointed roof floated 
a lovely silk " Flag of our Country." 

The baroness, the lovely English " angel " 
and her grandfather, together with a strange 
gentleman, tall, dark, and handsome, stood in a 
little group at one side, and moved forward 
to greet the approaching guests. 

George could never remember what he said 
or did the next few minutes. The baroness 
seemed dressed in the American flag, and the 
"angel "to float up and down in a white cloud, 
waving flowers ; but what he really saw was 
the knot of national colors on the baroness's 
bosom, and Miss Alice in a lovely white dress, 
with roses and forget-me-nots on her corsage, 
for the colors of the day. 

Then he saw that a beautifully bedecked tea- 
table was standing in the pavilion, toward 
which the baroness soon led them. 

George observed, with some uncalled-for in- 
dignation, that when seated at Miss Enderby's 
side, the French gentleman at her other side 
wholly claimed the lady's attention, and the 
boy was mentally arguing the justice of the 
situation after this fashion : " Let 's see him 
give up his Fourth of July for her, as I s'posed 

iS 9 3.J 



I was doing ! " when the beautiful being at his 
side turned to him, and said : 

" I hope you see I am wearing your colors 
very gladly to-day," pointing to the flowers 
upon her bosom — "as gladly as I hope you 
wore mine lately as a medal." 


" I 've got it in a box," was the answer, at 
which the lady laughed merrily. 

" I see you value your rewards of merit," she 
went on. " I am very glad to be one of those 
helping in this double birthday celebration." 

" How did she find out about it ? " wondered 
the boy. 

" But," she continued, " there are so many 
things about America I cannot understand : for 
instance, why do you have so many Georges in 
America when you told George the Third you 
would much rather 'play alone'? 
You are a George, and so 
is your father. It really 
seems to me you must 
rather have liked the 
old king, after all, to 
keep his name," 
said the mischie- 
vous girl, who ex- 
pected to draw 

The words 
seemed fairly to 
tumble over one 
another as the 
boy eagerly re- 
plied: " George 
Was king tot:, 
Miss Enderby ! 
not George 
the Third. All 
our Georges 
have Wash- 
stood in their 
names. Don't 
you see ? " 

" Of course ! 
How stupid of 
me ! " she re- 
plied. " So when 
I think of you, it must 
always be as George 
Washington understood) 
Bourne Ainsworth. Is that 
it? " looking at him with admir- 
able gravity. 

" Yes," replied the boy, with twink- 
ling eyes; "just the same as when 
an English lady is named Victoria, she really is 
Miss Victoria (Guelph understood) Brown; or 
when a German boy is named Wilhelm, you 
must always think of him as Wilhelm (Hohen- 
zollern) Schmidt. That 's the way_it 's done," 




he explained, bursting into a hearty boyish 
laugh in which his companion joined. 

" I hear you think the English navy ought 
to be large, so as to be ready to pick us out 
of the water when we fall off our little island," 
said the old Indian officer. 

George blushed furiously, and looked re- 
proachfully at the landlady, to whom he had 
once confided that humorous theory. The old 
man went on. 

" You and I must discuss that matter some 
day, my boy ; I can't let American citizens 
get false impressions to take back to their 
native land," and lifting the glass of lemonade, 
which did duty for wine at this American 
banquet, the old Indian officer rose slowly, 
and standing very erect, said : 

" I propose the health and happiness of the 
whole world ! " 

All sprang to their feet, glasses were raised, 
merrily clinked, and lifted to their lips. 

Then the baroness followed with : 

" To the brave of every country ! " which was 
gravely received with the thought in every 
heart of the hero of Sedan. 

The Swiss Fraulein next spoke, and said : 

"The old republic" — waving her tiny flag 
with the Maltese cross — " salutes her younger 
sister ! " which was received with tumultuous 

Miss Enderby, with a roguish glance at 
George, raised her glass, saying : 

" I drink to the reign of the two American 
Georges — Washington understood ! " which was 
received with a burst of laughter. 

Last of all, the gentleman beside Miss En- 
derby held his glass high, and speaking with 
a marked French accent, proposed that all 
should drink to the future prosperity of " the 
Chief American Citizen of the Swiss Regiment," 
and all broke into a gay little cheer. 

George's cheeks were very red, but he made 
a creditable bow in response, and was much 
relieved when these unwonted table ceremo- 
nies were ended, and they strolled out upon 
the lovely lawn to watch the glow fade from 
the mountains and the cold gray blue steal over 
their majestic crags. 

The evening shadows were falling as they 
finally adjourned to the piazza, when the old 

man drew the child beside him, telling him 
such wonderful stories of life in India that 
George did not see that while the other ladies 
chatted together, the young English girl strolled 
across the lawn attended by the French stranger, 
and was lost in the shrub-bordered walks, nor 
that his father had disappeared. 

The darkness fell in soft gloom, but the 
balmy air charmed all into content, and no 
one cared to enter the house. George, keyed 
to the highest pitch of excitement, was helping 
the old soldier kill a tiger in a jungle, when — 
whizz, whir-r-r ' — a rocket hissed over their 
heads, leaving a lovely golden shower to flutter 
down and slowly disappear in the darkness. 

George sprang to his feet with a shout, and 
like a shot was off across the lawn to help solve 
the mystery of those forgotten packages — 
when he stopped short. 

Just before him stood Miss Enderby and 
Monsieur Videaux. They had not heard his 
light step on the soft turf, and these two sen- 
tences were spoken in his hearing : 

" Miss Alice, do you think you could be 
converted from the monarchical system and 
learn to love a republican of France?" asked 
Monsieur Videaux very eagerly. 

" I think it would depend entirely upon — 
the republican," Miss Enderby replied hesi- 

By that time George was beside them, and 
was passing by, when his quick eye took 
note of a transfer which had been made since 
he was last in their presence. 

The roses then wom on Miss Enderby's 
dress now decorated the lapel of Monsieur 
Videaux's coat. 

A great wave of injured disappointment 
surged high in the boy's heart, and, borne on 
its crest, he was swept quite beyond his own 
control, and impulsively burst forth with : 

" Oh, Miss Alice ! you said you never gave 
any one your very own flowers to wear, unless 
your whole heart went with them I " — and then 
dashed off like a human rocket, leaving a long 
trail of consequences following this explosion. 

An hour later, as the guests were taking 
leave, and George was enthusiastically thank- 
ing one and all for " the very gloriousest 
Fourth " he had ever had, he was probably 




the least mystified of all the party at an unex- bent his tall figure to shake George's hand 

pected burst of grateful appreciation from Mon- with great warmth, and said with emphasis : 
sieur Videaux, who, standing beside him with " I zhall all my life be deeply grateful for ze 

Miss Enderby's hand resting upon his arm, assistance of — an American Citizen." 



\b SrlGggy CO'&t must m^ke The bee^r 
1 n Wi nfefc "lime I && Wa-proXs To &sT, 


e ^ar 




By William O. Stoddard. 

[Beg7in in the Nozieinber number.} 

Chapter XV. 


It seemed to Ned Wentworth as if the cave- 
man vanished, so suddenly did he disappear 
among the shadows, after his warning. Ned's 
own idea, however, was that Beard had not 
at all exaggerated the peril they were in. 
When he took out the bark door, to go in, it 
occurred to him that the ground in front of 
it was plainly foot-marked. 

" That 's dangerous," he said to himself. 
" All of us but Beard wear boots and shoes 
and leave tracks. There will be a regular 
path made, and the blackfellows will find it. 
We must get away from this place before they 
do ; so must Beard. I don't think he is crazy 
exactly, but then he is the queerest kind 
of fellow. I wonder if he has n't been a 

Meanwhile Ned pushed along through the 

Suddenly there came a low growl, very 
close to his face. 

" Why, Yip ! " exclaimed Ned, " I hope you 
and the other dogs remember me!" 

The dogs did remember him, for the growl 
was followed by whines of eager welcome. All 
the rest were sleeping soundly. 

" I '11 go to sleep, too," said Ned. " I am 
glad I did n't waken them." 

He put more wood on the fire, and lay 
down near the other sleepers, and the dogs 
also lay down again. 

All were asleep there, but not everybody under 
that mountain-side was asleep. 

The cave-man was then in a kind of cellar, 
with a flaring torch in his hand, looking down 
at something on the floor. It was not a large 
room, and it was ruggedly irregular, with no 
entrance to be seen excepting a wide opening 

at the top. On its flat rock floor lay rows and 
rows of just such little bars of yellowish metal 
as he had cast at his fireplace with his cru- 
cible and his sand-molds. 

" They 're all pure gold ! " he said aloud. 
"Heaps of it! But of what use is it, to me 
or anybody else ? I took pleasure in gather- 
ing it. There was danger, too, and plenty of 
good, hard work. It kept me busy, and I 
used to dream of ways to get out into the 
world and spend it." 

He was silent for a little, and then he went 
on talking to himself. 

" It is of no use. I see how it is. I shall 
never get out of the bush. I must stay here. 
Perhaps I can save them, out there. Perhaps 
not. There are almost too many robbers and 
blackfellows, and I don't see exactly how to 
dodge them all." 

He continued to stare at his ingots and to 
consider their possible uses. 

" If I could get out into the world," he 
said, "and carry them with me, I could have 
houses, and lands, and friends, and have a home 
again, and not live and die like a wolf or a 
savage. Burrowing in a cave, like an animal, 
with nobody but wild beasts and cannibals 
for neighbors! — and yet, for all that, I am 
a very, very rich man!" 

He said the last words slowly and sarcas- 
tically, while he turned over some of his ingots 
with his foot. 

He turned away from the ingots, clambered 
up through the hole at the top of the cellar, and 
the light of his torch showed that he was in one 
of the many wide cracks of that honeycombed 
limestone rock. He walked along as if he were 

At length he said, "I '11 let them all sleep 
until they wake of themselves. They were all 
up late, and they need a long rest. They have 
plenty of hard work before them. I would better 



go and water the horses. They will have work 
enough to do before they get to the Grampians — 
if they ever reach there." 

The passage he was 
in led into the main 
cave not far from the 
chasm. He left his 
torch there, and the 
dogs paid no attention 
to him when he came 
noiselessly to get the 
tin kettle. Yip and his 
two friends knew it was 
his kettle, and that he 
was the man of the 

Beard poured some 
water down in a hol- 
low of the rock for the 
dogs to lap, and then 
he went out. Next he 
went up the long, sway- 
ing ladder, almost as 
easily as a sailor climbs 
into the rigging. 

Though fastened at 
each end, above and 
below, it was loose, and 
it swayed about in the 
half darkness left by his 
torchlight. Close at 
hand was the yawning 
chasm, full of the roar 
of the torrent below, 
and few would have 
dared go up or down. 
Beard did not seem to 
mind it, but went up 
and down several times 
to bring water. Each 
time he came up, he 
was absent for a while. 
He must have visited 
the horses, for at last 
he remarked : 

"There! They will 
get along well enough, 
now I 've herded them together. And they can 
be found, too, when they 're needed. They won't 
wander away from one another. Horses are 
Vol. XX.— 45. 

sociable, and love company. And, anyhow, it 
must be almost daylight now." 

He went and took a look at the sleepers 


in the cave, and he gazed long and earnestly at 
them, but said nothing. He stepped lightly 
past them, and soon returned with a rifle. He 




went toward his front door, but when he had 
crept close to it, he hesitated. 

''There 's danger in opening it," he said, "but 
it 's safer now than it will be an hour or so 

He pushed very gently at first, and then 
harder, but the door seemed to resist him. 

"Something's the matter with it," he thought, 
" but I can't hear anything. Somehow or other, 
too, the peep-hole is plugged up, and I can't see 
out. It is n't so dark but I ought to see at 
least a gleam. I '11 widen it a little." 

He drew his long, keen bowie-knife from its 
sheath, and put the point of it into a slit of the 
door that he had felt for with his fingers. 

" Yow ! What 's that ? " exclaimed a voice 
on the other side of the door. 

" Keep still, Jim ! What on earth 's happened 
to you ? " 

" I must have backed against somethin' with 
a p'int to it. Somethin' on the bark," said Jim. 
" It did n't hurt much, though." 

The point of Beard's knife had barely 
scratched Jim as he leaned against the door, 
but he was not hurt enough to draw his atten- 
tion long from something in front of him. 

" Bill," said he, " we were fools to come out 
so early, but who 'd have thought of dingoes ? " 

" This is a good enough place to face them 
in," said Bill. " They '11 only watch us till day- 
light. But it 's a small chance." 

" We 've got to shoot," said Jim, " even if the 
blackfellows hear us. They 're not near us, or 
the wolves would n't be here." 

" It 's a wandering pack," said Bill, " and 
they scented us. Here are more of them ! " 

Beard lay still and listened, and he heard 
enough to understand the matter. The robbers 
were too uneasy to remain in their camp, and 
this pair had ventured out in the first faint twi- 
light of dawn, to have a hunt after him and his 

They had found nothing yet — not even the 
blackfellows; but a pack of the dingoes, which 
infested that forest because of its plentiful game, 
had found them. The men had backed down 
into the hollow between the tree roots as a good 
corner to fight from. There they crouched 
while all the bushes around the hollow became 
full of snapping jaws, lolling red tongues, fierce 

eyes, and sharp scratching paws that tore the 
earth, in eagerness to get at them. 

" Give it to them, Jim ! " said Bill. " They 're 
coming too close." 

Crack, crack, crack ! followed, and Beard 
knew that there were no misses made at such 
close quarters. Three of the nearest wolves 
tumbled over, and the two fellows in the hollow 
felt safer, for they could be attacked only in 

" We 've killed some of them," said Jim. 
" It 's getting lighter, too. Keep it up, Bill. 
Steady, boy ! There are not so many as there 

Beard could see through the slit now and 
then as Jim's body moved, and he was listening 

" If it 's the big pack," he whispered to him- 
self; "it 's all over with Bill and Jim. I don't 
want to watch what 's coming." 

" Bill," said Jim, " there are more dingoes 
than I reckoned on. Quick ! Give me the 
cartridge-box ! " 

" I did n't bring along any cartridge-box," 
replied Bill. " I did n't suppose we 'd need any 

" That 's my last shell, then ! " answered 
Jim, despairingly. 

" And mine, too ! " said Bill, as he fired 
once more, and then drew his knife. 

Beard hurried back through the burrow as 
fast as he could go, remarking : 

" It 's enough to make one's blood run cold ! 
I 'm afraid none of us in here will ever get back 
to the Grampians ! " 

None of the sleepers had been disturbed. 
Even the dogs lay still, unaware that anything 
strange or new was occurring outside. 

" The big dingo pack seems to have thinned 
out a little," said Beard to himself, as he stepped 
silently on through the darkness of the cave. 
" I hope so. Luckily, they never stay long in 
one place. They '11 go away as soon as the sun 
is up. It 's the only big pack I ever heard of. 
They usually hunt in squads." 

He disappeared, and another hour went by, 
and another, and then at last Sir Frederick 
Parry awoke and sat up. 

" Hugh, my boy," he said, " are you awake ?" 

l8 93 .] 



" Yes, Father," said Hugh, as he sprang to his 
feet. '• And there 's Ned. He 's sound asleep — " 

" Let him sleep, — he 's tired out," said Sir 
Frederick ; looking up, he added suddenly, 
" Why, there 's a coffee-pot ! " 

The voice of Lady Parry answered : 

" Coffee ? I 'm glad there is coffee. I was 
just wondering what we should do about break- 
fast. Helen, dear — " 

" I 'm awake, Aunt Maude. I 've been awake 
quite a while. Are we all really here in a cave, 
or am I dreaming ? " 

" Here we are," said her uncle, standing up ; 
" and as for breakfast — " 

" Put the kettle on," said a voice from the 
dark. " There 's plenty of coffee, but no milk 
or sugar. The cups are by the fireplace. Come 
this way, Hugh, and we '11 get the kangaroo. 
Bring a lighted torch with you." 

" Kangaroo ! " exclaimed the baronet. " Where 
can he catch kangaroos, down here, under- 
ground ? " 

"Why," said Hugh, as he held the end of 
a torch to the fire, " don't you remember ? 
It 's the one we shot at our camp, when the 
dingoes drove them into it. We brought it here, 
and hung it down in Mr. Beard's refrigerator, 
as he calls it." 

" That 's it, is it ? " said Sir Frederick. " I had 
forgotten all about the refrigerator." 

Hugh went with Beard, and in a few minutes 
he returned, carrying a good supply of fresh, 
nice-looking cutlets, all ready to broil. In the 
meantime Lady Parry had given attention to 
the cooking, and the coffee-pot was steaming 
over a bed of hot coals. Suddenly Lady Parry 
called out: 

" Where is Mr. Beard ? I wish very much to 
see him." 

She spoke so earnestly that she awakened 
Ned, and he sprang to his feet, rubbing his 
eyes. Hugh replied: 

"Why, Mother, he has gone on another 
errand, and he said nobody was to go out at 
the front door on any account." 

" Did he say why ? " asked the baronet, 
hastily; but something that he saw in Hugh's 
face made him add, " All right. I suppose 
he knows why. Now we will have our coffee. 
He made his own coffee-cups, apparently." 

Sir Frederick picked up, one after another, 
several rudely shaped earthen cups that lay 
near the fire, and examined them. 

Beard himself needed breakfast as much as 
anybody; but, for some unknown reason, he 
had decided to eat it alone, without coffee. 
At that very moment he was cooking for him- 
self over a fire he had kindled in the roofed 
cranny of the rocks at his side door. The sun 
was well up in the sky before he had finished 
his meal. 

" I think it is time now," he said, " for me to 
go and see how things look under the big 

He went cautiously, scouting from rock to 
rock and from tree to tree, all around the 
broken angle of the hillside. He proceeded 
more and more carefully as he approached his 
own front door, although he remarked to him- 
self, " Of course the dingoes are gone, — and 
so are the men." 

He reached the spot at last, and glanced 
rapidly around. 

" Is it possible ! " he exclaimed. " Well, the 
whole pack must have been here. But the rifles 
are gone, and even the knives ! Nothing left ! 
Have the blackfellows come here ? Or have 
the four other rascals been spying about ? 
Somebody must have finished what the dingoes 

That was evident. Only human hands could 
have left his yard entirely clear of some proofs 
of what had taken place ; yet there were only 
scattered cartridge-shells. 

" It must mean blackfellows," he said. " They 
never leave behind a strip or rag of cloth. I 
don't think either they or the robbers are likely 
to come back to this place, but the wolves will 
be sure to come. Our chances are about as 
bad as bad can be. I must have a talk with 
Sir Frederick, but I won't see the others." 

He opened the bark door as he spoke, and 
disappeared in the burrow. 

Chapter XVI. 


It was a blue morning, in spite of the sun- 
shine, at Sir Frederick Parry's river-side camp. 
The men were all up, but no two of them were 




of the same mind as to what they were to do 

" We can't go back to the Grampings with- 
out them," said Marsh. 

" I 'd spend the rest of me life here a-huntin' 
for them," said Bob McCracken with energy, 
" before I 'd give it up they were gone." 

The other two men had nothing to say. 

" Bovs," remarked Marsh, after a long silence, 
" we '11 see to the hosses and mules, and then 
we '11 have another day's hunt. There 's no 
telling but we might find them, somewhere." 

They had much to say about blackfellows, 
while they were getting ready, and they were a 
gloomy, downhearted set of men. Again and 
again they regretted the absence of the dogs. 

Yip and his two comrades were very busy at 
about that time. Without orders the three dogs 
had undertaken an exploration of the cave, but 
the mystery of it had seemed to be too much 
for them. They came back from the edge of 
the chasm with drooping tails, and, sitting 
down, they all barked and howled in that 

" Maude," said Sir Frederick, "it is very re- 
markable how the echoes of that howling mul- 
tiply. It sounds as if there were a hundred 

At that moment something new caught his 
eye, and he arose and walked to the other side 
of the cave. 

" I declare ! " he said, as he picked up the 
crucible. " A regular smelting-pot. Slag, too. 
Maude, this fellow has been melting down me- 
tallic ore of some kind or other. It is curious. 
There is no metal to be found in rock of this 
character. No mine of any description can be 
around here — But, then, this is an extraordi- 
nary country." 

He studied the crucible and the slag a 
moment, and then said : 

" I hope Beard will return soon. He said 
he could easily guide us to the camp. I 'd like 
to know what the men are doing." 

" We may be thankful indeed if we ever find 
it again," said Lady Parry. " Even at best it 
may take a week to reach the Grampians — per- 
haps two weeks." 

"Aunt Maude," said Helen, with a face beam- 
ing with courage, " now that we are all together 

again, it seems to me I can endure anything. 
Last evening, there I was, all alone in the 
woods, worn out, — oh, how glad I was to 
see Ned and the dogs come ! Hear those 
dogs, now! " 

They were indeed making a great noise, and 
the sound seemed to be echoed back in pecu- 
liarly mournful howls, pitched in different keys, 
vastly increased in volume, and very much 
confused and mingled. 

" It 's queer," remarked Sir Frederick, — 
" it is really extraordinary that the noise of 
those dogs should separate and multiply, and 
change so in being echoed. I must ask Beard 
if he has noticed anything of the sort. I 
thought, a moment ago, that I almost recog- 
nized Yip's howl among them." 

It was very curious, certainly; but everybody 
has noticed what odd effects echoes will have 
at times. Everything about the situation of the 
Parry family was uncommon, as Ned and Hugh 
were even then saying. The main point which 
they were arguing was whether they should 
venture to disobey Beard's injunction and take 
a look out into the open air. 

Meanwhile a very different series of conver- 
sations took place elsewhere. The men in Sir 
Frederick's camp were talking much of him, 
and wishing he were there to give them fresh 

The four bad fellows, in the camp by the 
waterfall, were discussing the fate of their two 
comrades who had gone out so early and 
had not returned. 

" What on earth has become of them ? " was 
asked again and again ; but there was no 

But Jim and Bill had not fallen victims to 
the wild dogs. While they stood at bay with 
drawn knives, resolved to die fighting, and 
hopeless of rescue, the band of blackfellows 
came running through the woods. 

They knew how to frighten dingoes, and 
at once set up a chorus of wild yells. This 
diversion, together with the stout resistance 
made by the white men, was too much for the 
pack. With one accord they turned and made 
after the blackfellows. No sooner were the 
besiegers gone than Jim and Bill ran into the 

i8 9 3- 



woods, and climbed trees. The blackfellows 
had previously adopted the same plan. 

The savages did not know that the white 
men were so near. The rattling reports of 
their shooting had first attracted the quick- 
eared blackfellows, while now the fact that the 
white men were not firing led the savages to 
take it for granted that they had gone to their 

The sun arose, and another very natural re- 
solve came to the dingoes. They had watched 
men in trees long enough, and enough of them 
had been slaughtered to satisfy them for one 
morning. They came to a howling decision of 
that sort, at last, and the entire pack set off 
upon an easy gallop along the mountain side. 
Not one of them had been in sight when Beard 
came out at his side door that morning and 
went to examine his front yard. 

At the foot of each of the trees which con- 
tained the forlorn white fellows lay an empty, 
useless rifle which seemed to look up mock- 
ingly at its helpless owner. 

" Bill," exclaimed Jim, suddenly, " look yon- 
der ! If that does n't beat me ! " 

"There he is," said Bill. "That 's the 
man ! He 's as unconcerned as if nobody 
was after him ! " 

"Could n't we pepper him, just now!" said 
Jim, — " if we had cartridges." 

" But we have n't a cartridge," said Bill. 
" Besides, we don't want to pepper him till 
after we 've made him tell us where he 's hid 
his pile of nuggets." 

" That 's so," replied Jim ; " but we 've got 
something to tell the boys, now." 

So they sat there in the tree-forks and 
talked about Beard and of what they meant 
to do to him, long after he was hidden from 
their sight by trunks and foliage. He, on 
his side, had no idea that he had been seen, 
although he knew it was quite possible. He 
was studying the wrecks and relics of the 
fight between the dingoes and the two white 

" How those brutes will devour one of their 
own kind, as soon as he 's knocked over!" he 
remarked, just before he went into his house. 
" There seems to be nothing eatable that they 
won't eat." 

Ned and Hugh were still busy with the ques- 
tion of whether they should venture out, when 
they were startled once more. 

" Ned, come this way," exclaimed a voice 
which Ned supposed to be at that moment 
far away. 

"I 'm coming," Ned replied; and then he 
added, speaking in a low voice to Hugh, 
" How that man does get around ! " 

" Well," said Hugh, " he knows the way. 
The dogs are out yonder, and yet they did n't 
hear him." 

" Ned," said Beard, as soon as they were 
together among the pillars, " I want to have 
Sir Frederick come in here, and nobody else. 
Do you know what 's the matter with those 
dogs ? " 

" They are scared at the chasm, or at the 
dark, I suppose," said Ned. 

" No, it 's not that," said Beard, anxiously. 
" Tell him to come here, right away. I know 
dogs, my boy. There 's something in that 
cave that 's alive and moving. What can it 
be ? Tell Sir Frederick to come here ! Quick ! " 

Ned sprang back to the baronet and gave 
his errand, in a swift, excited whisper, adding : 

" Don't scare Lady Maude and Helen, nor 
Hugh, either. Come ! " 

But Sir Frederick Parry was not easily 
frightened. He rose, and answered : 

" I '11 go, my boy. You and Hugh put more 
wood on the fire. Call in the dogs." 

In a moment more, he stood face to face 
with Beard. The two men were of nearly 
the same size, but there was a marked contrast 
between the long-bearded, roughly dressed man 
of the woods, and the elegantly dressed, closely 
cropped English gentleman. 

" What is it, Beard ? " he asked ; and Beard 
told him rapidly all there was to tell about the 
blackfellows and the white men outside the cave. 

" Now, Sir Frederick," said Beard. " Do 
you hear your dogs?" 

Ned and Hugh were vainly trying to quiet 
them, and Yip and the hounds were barking 

" Remarkable echoes," replied Sir Frederick; 
" very extraordinary, indeed ! " 

" Echoes ! " exclaimed Beard. " Don't you 
recognize that howl ? How they got in I can- 




not imagine, but the great dingo pack is in this 
cave I It comes into these woods every few 
months. It comes and goes. It 's here now ! " 

" Wolves in the cave ! " gasped the baronet. 
" And there are cannibals and ex-convicts 
outside ! " 

" I 've had to face such things, year after 
year," said Beard, bitterly ; " but I 've been 

"'that 's the great dingo pack,' said beard." (see next page.) 

alone. I never had to take care of women or 
boys. I 'm glad we have so much fuel right 
here. That will help. So will one thing more — 
if we dare do it ! " 

" What 's that ? " asked the baronet. 

" Why," said Beard, " we must build another 
fire further down the cave. It will keep them 
off, perhaps with some shooting to help, until 
we dare venture out of the front door and try 
to reach your camp." 

" I 'm ready," said Sir Frederick. " You 're 
a brave fellow." 

Beard was truly a brave man, but the beads 
of perspiration came out on his broad forehead, 
as he stood and listened to the clamor, which 
seemed to be momentarily increasing. Sir 
Frederick's face, also, betrayed his feelings, and 
now they both darted forward. 
^^^^^^^^^^^^^ m "We must have 
torches!" said Beard, 
quickly. " All of you 
gather up pine-knot 
sticks and light them. 
Boys, bring all the 
wood you can carry. 
Load your guns. Let 
the ladies help, too. 
They can light torches 
and carry wood. I 'm 
glad there 's plenty of 

" Helen," said Lady 
Parry, " I don't know 
what it is for, but some 
danger threatens us. 
We must do as he 

" I can carry wood," 
said Helen. " I have 
found a splendid torch- 
stick. My revolver is 
loaded, too." 

The dry pine-knot 
at the end of the stick 
kindled swiftly and 
threw a strong glare 
of ruddy light over 
her excited face, and 
she looked very res- 
Ned and Hugh sprang to their work with 
but a dim idea of what it was for, while Yip 
and the hounds redoubled their barking; the 
noise from the other end of the cave also grew 
louder and more hideous, helped as it was 
by all the echoes from the sides and roof. 

" Bring the wood here, Sir Frederick," said 
Beard, and they quickly halted at the very edge 
of the chasm. " We '11 kindle our fire here," he 
went on. "It 's odd, but I never made much 

i8 9 3-: 



of a fire here before. I never brought any- 
thing bigger than a torch." 

Down went the wood, in a growing heap. 
It was dry, a great part of it was resinous, and 
it kindled fast. Up sprang the dancing blaze, 
throwing a bright fire-glow upon the vaulted 
roof, with its glittering white stalactites, and 
upon the stalagmite-dotted floor, strewn with 
fragments. Down into the mysterious chasm 
went the new illumination; but all the party 
were staring across the chasm, not into it, as 
Beard exclaimed : 

" It 's not nearly so wide as I thought it was, 
but still they can't jump across. Look ! " 

They looked, and they all drew short, shud- 
dering breaths, though they could not see much, 
after all. It was only a darkness, into which 
the firelight streamed, flaringly, showing an 
array of greenish, gleaming eyes, clashing teeth, 
and shadowy shapes of heads and legs. 

( To be con 

" That 's the great dingo pack," said Beard. 
" No doubt about it. How they got there 
puzzles me entirely. I never was over on that 
side of the chasm." 

" Do you think they can find any way to 
get around to this side ? " asked Sir Frederick, 

" Not that I know of," said Beard. " There 
they are. The cave must go to the river-bank 
on the other side of the mountain. It runs all 
around it, you know — 

"Ned! Hugh! Hold on! Don't shoot!" 
suddenly shouted Beard, as the boys were lift- 
ing their guns. " You '11 bring down a shower 
of stalactites on our heads ! There comes one ! 
Back to the front of the cave ! " 

Crash ! And then a thunderous roar followed 
the fall of that stalactite, mingled with the 
mournful howling of the dingoes and the yelps 
of the terrified dogs. 

United. ) 


By Josephine Pollard. 

Madeline is music-mad, 
Dancing 's her delight; 
She is at it all day long, 
From early morn till night. 
Heel and toe, toe and heel, 
Polka, waltz, Virginia reel, — 
With a partner or without, 
Madeline will whirl about. 

Little does she care for books, 
Little wisdom shows; 
And 't is often said her brains 
Must be in her toes. 
When she hears the violin, 
Then her ecstasies begin ; 
And her friends declare 't is sad 
She should be so music-mad. 




Good-day and a merry Fourth to you, my be- 
loved — a merry, happy Fourth, containing, as 
Deacon Green says, ninety per cent, of true pa- 
triotism to five per cent, of racket and bluster, 
leaving only five per cent, residuum for casualties! 
That is the chemistry way of looking at it. As 
for your own Jack, all he need say about it is to 
remind you, one and all, that the American Eagle 
is not a crowing bird. He takes a high view of 
things ; and sometimes, indeed, he may hug him- 
self complacently with his ample wings, — but he 
never crows. Remember that, my friends. 

Here comes something fluttering upon my pul- 
pit ! It is from one who has been looking into 
holidays generally, and especially into the Fourth 
of July. It is a brief paper, so let us open our sim- 
ple out-of-door service by reading it. Glancing 
at the document hastily in a Jack-in-the-Pulpitty 
sort of way, it strikes me as being rather scholastic 
in tone, though simple in character. Of course it 
is entitled 


NOTED as is this day in the history of the Ameri- 
can people, it really was a day of feast and celebra- 
tion many years ago — long before the signing of 
our Declaration of Independence. In Scotland it 
used to be called St. Martin of Bullion's Day, and 
was celebrated with great feasting and sporting, 
especially by the Scotch peasantry. It was a com- 
mon proverb that if the deer lay down dry and rose 
dry on "Bullion's Day," it was an infallible sign 
that there would be a good gose harvest. Gose was 
the term for the latter end of summer, therefore 
gose harvest meant an early harvest. Through- 
out the whole of Europe, the peasantry (and, indeed, 
many other people) believed that rain on Bullion's 
Day betokened rain for twenty ensuing days. 

It is a remarkable fact, too, that the two men 
who were especially associated with the Fourth of 

July — Jefferson and the elder Adams, the first 
being the author of the Declaration of Indepen- 
dence, and the other its warm indorser — should 
have died on the fiftieth anniversary of the great day. 

The same good correspondent, Zitella Cocke, 
also sends you this breezy little song : 


Four Brothers are piping o'er land and o'er 

sea — 
Each pipes his own tune and with good-will 

pipes he, 
And one like a clarion-trumpet doth blow, 
And one plays a lullaby, sweetly and low — 
And one wakes the waves with a blast wild and 

And one murmurs softly to river and rill ; — 
Pray who are the Brothers ? — perchance you 

have guessed ; 
Look Northward and Southward and Eastward 

and West, 
And listen — hark! hark! — through the wood 

floats a strain — 
The West Wind is piping his joyous refrain ! 

Now you shall hear of certain very 

intelligent emigrants. 

Crown Point, New York. 

Dear Jack : Reading this evening in the February 
St. Nicholas a story of the exploit of some red ants, I 
was reminded of an incident that occurred at our home 
last summer — not, indeed, so wonderful a display of 
intelligence as that told of in the verses, but still one 
that interested us greatly. We witnessed what was, un- 
doubtedly, the emigration of a tribe of black ants. 

On the side of a piazza at the rear of our house is a 
lattice. Upon a slat of this lattice one of us observed an 
unusual number of ants ; and soon the attention of the 
whole family was called to their movements. The ants 
were certainly changing their quarters from some place 
in the roof or cornice of the piazza to a place under the 
floor. There were two lines of ants: one going down 
and transporting eggs the size of which differed little 
from that of the bodies of the insects, and another line 
going back to the roof — to reload, I suppose. All these 
evolutions were carried forward along the top of one 
slat, not half an inch in width. When the down-going 
ant reached the floor, he followed almost exactly the 
same path that the others had used. This moving 
continued until after noon. We did not notice the ants 
again during the summer. Who knows but this migra- 
tion is set down, in the annals of the tribe, as a most 
important epoch of their history? 

Sidney N. Deane. 


My Dear Jack : I saw a very funny scene not long 
ago, an account of which may amuse the girls and boys 
who read St. Nicholas. 

Five of us were driving through the country, on top 
of a big coach, when a flock of sheep appeared on the 
road before us. One little lamb with its mother had 
lingered behind the rest; and, before we could stop him, 
our naughty dog flew at the poor little lamb and began to 
bite and shake it cruelly. We could not get to the res- 
cue, and the frightened lamb was in great danger, when 
a very strange thing happened. Four pigs, standing by 
the fence, suddenly rushed up as if bent on rescuing the 




victim. For a moment there was confusion, indeed. 
Barks and squeals, and pigs, dog, and lamb had full 
possession of our faculties, but the pigs soon drove the 
dog away, and the baby lamb was saved. Now, did 
you ever think that a pig would do so kind a thing ? A 
constant reader, K. C. H. 


HERE come a letter and a picture that surely will 
interest you — and as they both are true, it will be 
perfectly easy after this day for all of you who 
never have seen a live angel-fish to recognize one 
at first sight. The dear Little Schoolma'am has 
never been to Bermooda (as she calls it, though 
Deacon Green always says Ber-;«<?w-da), but once 
she had the delight of seeing a fine specimen of 
this fish swimming about in a large aquarium-tank, 
and she assures my birds and myself that a more 
exquisitely, superbly beautiful creature — in the fish 
line — never crossed her vision. Mr. King's pho- 
tograph of the scaly — or, I should say, radiant — 
creature "fairly shimmered," as the dear Little 
Schoolma'am expressed it ; and brother Drake 
of The Century Co. certainly has done well in 
having the photograph so clearly copied for you. 

Now for the fish itself: 

Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : Among the most 
beautiful of the fish that swarm in the waters of 
Bermuda is the angel-fish, a photograph of which 
is herewith sent you. This specimen was caught 

in a fish-pot in Hamilton harbor, and photographed 
while alive. The angel-fish varies in length from 
ten to eighteen inches from nose to tip of fins ; 
and a most striking object it is. 

With the sides shading from a pearly opal to an 
intense purple ; with spots of gobelin blue over each 
eye, at the junction of each fin with the body, and 
about the gills ; with edgings of canary-yellow 
deepening at the tip of tail and fins to a glowing 
orange — as they swim slowly about in the clear 
waters of the islands, they seem like animated spe- 
cimens of some skilled jeweler's art : one who has 
laid upon foundation-tints taken from sea and sky 
richer hues, using for his materials lapis-lazuli, 
opals, turquoises, sapphires, amber, silver, and 
gold. Thomas Worthington King. 


THE dear Little Schoolma'am asks me to an • 
nounce from this pulpit that the very best cor- 
rected version of A Misspelled Tail that had been 
received up to the third of May, or printing-time, 
was sent in by C. A. Burtch, of Brookline Park, 
Illinois. Even this fine version, however, is not 
absolutely perfect. The dear little lady therefore 
asks that others among my delightful crowd of 
young folks will try to write out Mrs. Corbett's 
pathetic story with absolute correctness of spell- 
ing. It is to be found in the April St. Nicholas 
of this year, page 475. 




By Clara Doty Bates. 

and chariots running by clock- 
'-. work. Even the animals and 
insects moved about because they 
had been wound up with keys. 

When the little people wished to learn, they 

There is an old fairy story about a king went to Lessonland, when they were hungry 
whose realm consisted of three beautiful cities, they hastened to Confection, and when they 
which were so near one another that from the wished to play they crossed over into Pastime, 
walls of each you could see the walls of the This delightful fable has been realized and 
other two. The first city was called " Lesson- materialized within the grounds of the Colum- 
land," the second the city of " Confection," bian Exposition. Here can be found the fairy 
and the third the city of " Pastime." kingdom indeed, with all three cities under 

The city of Lessonland was built of books, one roof — the roof of the Children's Building. 
Maps of every country and pictures of every Never in the history of the world has there 
clime were upon the walls, and the motto of been a house like this. The idea, to begin 
the place was, " Learn, learn, learn ! " with, started in the mind of a warm-hearted 

In Confection the bricks used were not woman, who knew that during the long sum- 
books, but gingerbread ; the bridges and fences mer of wonder-seeing there would be so many 
were of barley-sugar; and all the trees were tired little feet, so many little strangers who 
Christmas trees loaded with almonds and missed their gardens, their playtltings, and their 
golden nuts. All the people in this town books. She thought if men were to have 
were very fat and comfortable. stately and magnificent structures, and women 

In the city of Pastime everything was on the were to have a white palace devoted to their 
toy plan — tops and hoops, bows and arrows, work and to their comfort, that the children 
kites and dolls, goat-carts and all sorts of gigs might have their own building, too. 



It should be just as beautiful, just as useful, 
and just as comfortable. She called into coun- 
sel other wise women, and presently the idea, 
which had been slowly growing, began to put 
forth sprouts and branches. Then, behold ! it 
blossomed into a wonderful plan. The place 
for rest and home care should be there, and 
much besides. Everything pertaining to child- 
life should be exhibited. It should be a real 

But how was all this to be done without 
money ? The men in charge of the great Ex- 
position had their hands full. They had nothing 
to spare from their gigantic undertaking. So 
the Board of Lady Managers, with true courage, 
assumed the responsibility. 

The cost was apportioned between the sev- 
eral States. An architect was employed to 
draw plans. But contributions came in slowly. 
The whole plan was likely to fail for want of 
money. Then a social and literary club, made 
up mostly of young women, in the north di- 
vision of Chicago, came to the rescue. They 
held a bazaar, the like of which had never been 
seen in the city. It brought into the treasury 
$35,000. Besides this, children from all over 
the land began sending in their contributions. 
Then there was no longer any lack of money. 

Out of this small beginning came the Chil- 
dren's Building. In size it is 150 x 90 feet. It 
is built of staff — a material which gives ele- 
gant and substantial effects without the enor- 
mous labor that would be required in using 
ordinary materials. 

It is decorated in colors, light blue predomi- 
nating. Among other decorations are sixteen 
medallions of the children of all nations in their 
national costumes : Indian, Japanese, Dutch, 
French, Spanish — children of every clime. 

The first floor contains the Creche, a large, 
airy, cheerful room, where one hundred children 
can be cared for at a time, while their mothers 
are out sight-seeing. The Assembly-room is 
also upon this floor, and this is, perhaps, where 
more interest will center than in any other part 
of the house. It is furnished with chairs, like 
any audience-room, except that the seats are of 
several different sizes. There is a platform from 
which will be given to the older boys and girls 
stereopticon lectures about foreign countries, 

their languages, manners and customs, and 
important facts connected with their history. 
These facts will be told by experienced teachers 
and kindergartners, who will then take groups 
of children to see the exhibits from the countries 
about which they have just heard. In the 
Assembly-room there will also be dramatic, 
literary, and musical entertainments carefully 
adapted to suit the intelligence of varying ages. 
Distinguished people who are visiting the Ex- 
position, will be asked to give familiar talks 
about their special lines of work. Authors, ar- 
tists, musicians, and scientists will all be called 
upon to minister to the happiness of the for- 
tunate little people. 

On the second floor, kindergarten and kitch- 
en-garden departments will be in full operation 
for the benefit of mothers and others interested 
in the best methods of instructing children. 
Here will be also the cooking-school from the 
Drexel Institute in Philadelphia. The Ramona 
School for Indians is to be brought from Santa 
Fe, New Mexico. There are thirty pupils, and 
they will bring all their furniture and decora- 
tions, and will do their native basket-weaving 
and other characteristic Indian work. There 
will also be a school for deaf-mutes, where the 
interesting process of teaching to speak and to 
read from the lips will be shown. 

The Library is as nearly a model one for 
children as can be secured. Portraits of writers 
for children, with autographs whenever that is 
possible, are upon the walls. The favorite home 
papers and the familiar magazines are to be 
found, ready either to be merely glanced at or to 
be read at leisure. On the roof, above all this 
busy lesson-life, is the playground. This is a 
lovely garden, all inclosed with a wire- screen, 
for safety. It is full of flowers and plants, and 
live birds are flying about in perfect freedom. 
Toys of all nations are on exhibition here, from 
the crude child-trinket of the savage to the 
talking, walking, working playthings of France. 
And they are not for show merely, but for the 
children to play with. 

I think the women who have done most to 
plan for and complete this Children's Building 
should be remembered. They are Mrs. Potter 
Palmer, President of the Board of Lady Man- 
agers, and Mrs. George L. Dunlap. 


By P. Newell. 

pipe : " Hello, Bubble ! What 's the trouble ? " 
bubble: "Good-by, old fellow! I feel that I 'm going to 
sneeze, and I 'm too fragile to stand that ! " 


A couple of Insoles who are suspected of being footpads. 




Contributors are respectfully informed that, between the ist of June and the 15th of September, manuscripts cannot conveniently be 

examined at the office of St. Nicholas. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with contributions 

will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date. 

Dear St. Nicholas : Is there any one among your 
many contributors who can give a clear description 
and directions for playing the charming and old-fashioned 
game of " Cat's Cradle " ? It seems to have gone out 
so completely that no one can be found who can go far- 
ther than the fifth figure. I have a childish recollection 
of an old aunt who could give us twenty or more moves, 
each with its proper name, and I think the game is worth 
reviving for this generation. Yours, etc. M. S- . 

Boston, Mass. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I am a boy of ten years old. 
I live at Pride's Crossing in the summer, and sometimes 
I go to Europe, and in the winter time I live in Boston. 

I have a donkey and a little cart, and I go out to drive 
every day. One day the donkey was stubborn, and he 
would not go at all. Then all of a sudden he commenced 
kicking, and he knocked over the cart and I fell out, but 
I was not hurt a bit. He is always doing things like 
that. But papa says he is going to give me a pony, be- 
cause he says the donkey is quite too dangerous for me. 

Edwin W. B . 

Pacheco, Cal. 
Dear St. Nicholas : You are one of the best maga- 
zines I ever read. I do not take you, but the Pacheco 
school .does. Mr. Sickal is the teacher. One of the best 
stories I ever read in you is " The White Cave " ; it is a 
very interesting illustration of Australia; the kite, " Uncle 
Sam," is another good story. I make kites every year, 
but they are only two or three feet high. I make them 
the same shape as the Uncle Sam, out of sticks made 
of redwood shakes, about three eighths of an inch wide. 
Your affectionate reader, Johnnie S . 

Elizabeth, N. J. 

My Dear St. Nicholas : We have taken you for such 
a long time now that I do not know what we should do 
without you. 

In the winter we live in Elizabeth, and during the 
month of September we are generally at Garrison's, 
opposite West Point. We often go over to see the flying 
artillery, or dress parade, and often the notes of the 
hymn, which they always play on Sunday evenings, 
float across the water so that we can hear quite dis- 
tinctly. With much love, I am always your very faithful 
reader, Gay Royal T . 

New York. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little boy thirteen years 
old last summer. My twin brother, Lionel, had a fall from 
his pony and hurt his back, and it has never been strong 
since. Papa had to go to Oregon on business, and he 
brought us to America with him, thinking the change 
would do Lionel good. He left us in New York with our 
aunt, and there we saw dear St. Nicholas. We were 
very much interested in the Letter-box, and I am writing 

this letter hoping that it will be published, as I want to 
surprise Lionel. I like it very much in New York, for 
as Lionel is not strong enough to study, we left our tutor 
at home, and so we have all day to play. At home, in 
England, we had to study from nine until half-past one, 
winter and summer, besides preparing our tasks in the 
evening. However, we had the afternoons to ourselves, 
and before Lionel was hurt we generally rode our ponies ; 
but after his accident papa bought us a dog-cart and 
taught me to drive tandem, which is fine sport. We 
took our sister Mabel once, but the cart was so small it 
crowded Lionel, and after that she rode her own pony. 

I hope this letter is good enough to print, for if it is 
I shall send it home to mama and Mabel. 

Your devoted friend, Walter A . 

San Francisco. 

Dear St. Nicholas : Being so pleased with the let- 
ters in your " Box," I thought I would add to your list. 
I live about a block from the beach of San Francisco 
bay. From every window in the house we can see the 
Pacific Ocean on the west, the city on the south, Oakland, 
Alameda, and Berkeley on the east, and Mount Tamal- 
pais, San Rafael, Saucelito, and Alcatraz on the north. 
We see every steamer, ship, or vessel that comes and 
goes in the harbor. Last summer I went to Alaska. 
My sister corresponds with Indian girls at the Metlekatla 
Mission. Their letters are very well written (but very 

I like " Polly Oliver's Problem" very much, as Mrs. 
Wiggin used to teach my brother and sisters when we 
were very small. I think she means our family when 
she says she went to amuse the four little Baer Cubs 
instructively, which is very true. I belong to a club 
where we assume names ; and I take Mrs. Wiggin's 
name ; another member takes the name of Louisa M. 
Alcott. From your constant reader, 

Edith L. B . 

Jallundar City, Punjab, India. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am twelve years old. We 
have had you for about nine years in our family, and I 
enjoy reading you very much. 

The other day I received a letter from a lady, in which 
she inclosed a beetle about as large as my finger-nail. 
At first we did n't know whether it was real or only 
manufactured; but, after examining it for a long time, 
we concluded it was a real beetle. It looks like a very 
small turtle with a thin yellow disk like the shell of a 
turtle. The disk is transparent. At the front there are 
two feelers, and it has six legs. The colors are a bright 
red, yellow, and brown. I have a nice magnifying-glass, 
with which I can examine it. The first night I had it I 
gave it some bread. 

Our unusually long winter is just about over now. In 
the place where I live we have no snow or ice. In the 
summer it gets so hot that we go up to the hills for some 
coolness ; there we get a lovely view of the snows. In the 

7 i8 


morning they look very pretty. Sometimes, in the mid- 
dle of the day, when the sun is shining on them, the 
mountains glitter so, and look so bright, that they almost 
dazzle your eyes ; but they are prettiest in the evening 
when the sun is just setting ; they have a purplish glow 
all over. Though this has been an unusually cold winter, 
for in this place the mercury has hardly ever gone below 
the freezing-point. Last summer, once, the mercury 
went up to 120° in the shade. 

I am your constant reader, Frank H. N . 

draw it. We were on the boat a week, arriving here on 
the 7th of November. Your loving reader, 

Willa Carey N . 

Des Moines, Iowa. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am going to tell you of a little 
bantam hen my brother once had. We used to let it in 
the house, and one day mama called me to see something, 
and there, on the top of the sideboard, was an egg. The 
hen had gotten into the house somehow and laid the 
egg on a little mat that was on the sideboard. One day 
we found an egg on the parlor table. A few days after- 
ward I went into the parlor and saw the hen running 
over the mantel. There was a little china cup on the 
corner of the mantel, and the hen had knocked it over 
and broken the handle in its hurry to get away. When 
I looked back of the cup I saw another egg. The hen 
also laid an egg in the middle of a bed. We were very 
sorry when it died, and missed it very much. We had 
other bantams besides this one, but none w-ere so bold. 
Your loving reader, Hetty M. A . 

Poating, China. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little girl twelve years 
old. I was born in Peking and lived there more than 
seven years. I like your stories very much. I remem- 
ber when you published the story "Juan and Juanita." 
While I was in America I made the acquaintance of 
some little girls about my age, and I correspond with 

I have not been in China very long this time. I am 
going to tell you of my voyage. We started from New 
Haven, Conn., the 7th of September, and were in Bos- 
ton, Mass., at eleven o'clock P. M. The next day my 
uncle, Lieutenant W. W. Gibson, took us for a drive ; 
we saw the house where Longfellow used to live, and 
the old elm-tree where Washington first took command 
of the American army. The next day we started for 
Montreal, and arrived there in the evening and changed 
trains for Vancouver. To pass away the time I counted 
all the prairie-dogs I saw. At Vancouver we took the 
steamer "Empress of China." The third day out we 
struck a severe storm, and later encountered a typhoon. 
After two weeks we arrived at Yokohama and in a week 
more we arrived at Shanghai. Just before you get to 
Shanghai there is a river, and in the river there is a 
large sand bar; the Chinese call it the "heavenly barrier." 

After a few days' stay in Shanghai we took a smaller 
steamer for Tientsin; on the way we passed through a 
terrible typhoon, and it seemed as if the ship would go 
to pieces every minute. A British mail-steamer, the 
" Bokhara," going south to Hongkong, was wrecked in 
the same typhoon, and nearly all on board were lost ; 
those who were saved were washed up on one of the 
islands on which the ship struck, when she sank with 
all on board. We arrived in a few days at Tientsin and 
took a house-boat to Poating. A house-boat is a small 
boat with a covering ; if the wind is not blowing the 
boatmen use very long poles, with which they push it; 
and if the water is so deep that the poles can't touch the 
bottom of the river, they fasten a rope to the mast and 

Winchester, Va. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We have taken you ever since 
you were published, and think you are by far the nicest 
magazine we take. 

I live in the historic old town of Winchester. We 
have a spring here by the name of "Suwanee. " They say 
when the Indians lived here, they believed that if they 
drank of that spring they were sure to return before 
they died, and if by chance they died away from here, 
they were always buried with their heads in this direc- 
tion. Lord Fairfax's remains are in the Episcopal church 
here. The author of "Juan and Juanita" lives about a 
mile from here in a beautiful country home. 

My favorite stories are "Little Lord Fauntleroy" and 
"Juan and Juanita." Your interested reader, 

Augusta P . 

Finvoy Rectory, Ballymoney, Ireland. 
Dear St. Nicholas : We are three little children, 
and have had St. Nicholas for a very long time, and 
love it very, very much. Our little brother's god- 
mother has sent it to him ever since he could walk. We 
live not very far from the Giant's Causeway, and have 
often been there. There is a Lady's Wishing-Chair, and 
they say that if a lady makes a wish in it, the wish will 
be fulfilled within the year. We have a Causeway stone 
at the side of our drawing-room window. It has seven 
sides, and is very queer. A young lady was here from 
England when it came, and she christened it "The 
Lady's Wishing-Stone," and then we made a " freet " 
about it. You have to walk round it three times, sit 
down with your eyes closed, take a crooked pin from 
somebody, and then wish, and you are sure to get your 
wish ; and mother says ours is about as true as the other 
things they tell at the Causeway. The Bann is in our 
parish, and we often get salmon and trout that are caught 
in it. I hope St. Nicholas will live as long as we do. 
With much love from your affectionate readers, , 

Eleanor, Dorothy, George H. F . 

We thank the young friends whose names follow for 
pleasant letters received from them: Johanna T. T., 
Elizabeth B. and Ollie W., Alice K. H., Hamilton M., 
W. P. L., Grace W., Helen F., F. and A. S., Clarence 
G., Carl C. T., D. S., Walter F. K., R. S. F., James 
L., Hilda L., Clarence, LillusS., Belle H., Arthur P. G., 
Jr., F. I. E., Stuart and Elbert B., Alice O., Ellen D. 
R. F., Bertha S., Edith S. D., Fred and Joe, Geraldine 
B., Avis K. B.. Lucile J., Anna L., " Bertie," Louise G., 
Gertie T., Emilv P. G., Agnes B., John B. D., Thos. 
H. D., Lucile V. P., Albert E. R.. L. V. D. B., Marion 
V. R., J. E. M., George E. F., Edith M. H., S., M. E. 
I., Susie P., May M., Jessie B. F., Mary M., James 
McV., Elizabeth H. W., Blanche B., Bessie T., Made- 
line J. P., Hettie, Frances C, Katharine M. A., Phyllis 
N. N., Waldo C. J., Anna M. M., Adda M. G., J. West 
Rulon C, E. and M. B., Fanny H., Alice and Mary, 
Dagmar F. N. K., Mina S., Ward J., " Bebe," Edith G., 
Gussie B., Maude A. W., Vivian C, Madge L., Gerald 
A., Mary FitzG., A. W. O., Muriel D. E., and the fol- 
lowing pupils of the Central School of Fresno, Cal.: 
Delia's., Grace S., Frank O., Allen G., Mary B., George 
S., Vivian R. W., Virda C, Cecilia E. W., Nellie S., and 
Roy A. 


5. Loyal. 

Double Squares. I. 
5. Tenet. II. 1. Straw. 

Intersecting Words 
from 5 to 6, Holland. 
3. Wailing. 4. Stylish. 

Across: 1. Adapt. 2. Opera. 3. Tails. 4. Rasps. 

. Carat. 
. Tribe. 

2. Atone. 3. Robin. 4, Anile. 

3. Rider. 4. Abets. 5. Werst 
: From 1 to 2, builder; from 3 to 4, sailors ; 

Cross-words : 1. Bothers. 2. Humoral. 
5. Broaden. 6. Drunken. 7. Soldier. 

Primal Acrostic. "City of the Sun." Cross-words: 1. Cal- 
lao. 2. Indus. 3. Tangier. 4. Yokohama. 5. Odessa. 6. Feejee. 
7. Tripoli. 8. Himalaya. 9. Elbe. 10. Saguenay. n. Utrecht. 
12. Naples. 

Illustrated Zigzag. Corneille. 1. Coral. 2. Doves. 
4. Crank. 5. Slate. 6. Chair. 7. Rules. 8. Album. 

Star Puzzle, i. P. 2. An. 3. Paraded. 4. Nature. 5. Dunes. 
6. Erects. 7. Destroy. 8. So. 9. Y. 

3. Purse. 
9. Egret. 

Metamorphoses. I. Bland, blank, blink, slink, slick, slice, 
spice, spile, smile. II. Holy, hole, pole, pile, wile, wily, oily, only, 
inly, idly, idle, isle. Anagram. George Washington. 

Connected Squares. I. 1. Pasha. 2. Actor. 3. Storm. 4. Horse. 
5. Armed. II. 1. Quota. 2. Umber. 3. Obese. 4. Testa. 5. Arear. 
III. 1. Dream. 2. Rondo. 3. Endow. 4. Adore. 5. Mower. IV. 
1. Realm. 2. Ennui. 3. Anent. 4. Lunar. 5. Mitre. 

Word-building. I, in, inn, nine, inner, dinner, rending, trend- 
ing, tendering, pretending. 

Cross-word Enigma. World's Fair. 

Double Acrostic. Primals, Charles Kingsley ; finals, Peter 
Paul Rubens. Cross-words: 1. Crisp. 2. Handsome. 3. Anent. 
4. Rapture. 5. Lemur. 6. Envelop. 7. Sofa. 8. Kiang-su. 9. In- 
still. 10. Neither. 11. Gnu. 12. Sahib. 13. Lathe. 14. Effusion. 
15. Yumas. 

To our Puzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-bo.\," care of The Centurv Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the April Number were received, before April 15th, from Paul Reese — "Uncle Mung" — 
Isabel, Mama, and Jamie — Mabel Gardner — Helen C. McCleary — Maude E. Palmer — A. H. and R. — "The McG.'s" — "Alice Mil- 
dred Blanke and Co." — Ida C. Thallon — To and I — C. W. Brown — Carl and Paul Rowley — Chester B. Sumner — Hubert L. Bin- 
gay — L. O. E. — " Infantry" — Rosalie Bloomingdale — E. M. G. — Nessie and Freddie — Mama, Maud, and Ethel — "Leather-Stocking " — 
John Fletcher and Jessie Chapman — " The Wise Five." 

Answers to Puzzles in the April Number were received, before April 15th, from Mary Makepeace, 1 — Amy T. Hallett, 1 — 
Ethelind Swire, 2 — Geo. S. Seymour, 4 — S. S. S., 3 — Richard N. Duffy, Jr., 1 — Helen Schneider, 1 — "Geti," Stapleton, 1 — G. B. 
Dyer, 9 — Mabel A. Wheeler, 1 — Willie E. and Alice C. Schoonmaker, 2 — Melville Hunnewell, 4 — Vincent V. M. Beede, 5 — Louisa 
Weightman, 1 — "Mr. Micawber," 3 — Lizzie A. Schilling, 1 — Nellie Louise Schilling, 1 — Blanche and Fred, 9 — Mama and Sadie, 5 — 
Bessie R. Crocker. 8 — " Old Riddler," 2 — Edwin Rutherford, 1 — James A. Seddon, Jr., 2 — Harry and Mama, 9 — Clara Mayer, 2 — 
Gail Ramond, 9 — Toddy and Briggy, 9 — Ida and Alice, 8 — Charlotte A. Peabody, 9 — A. and I., 8 — Hortense Chegwidden, 1 — " Two 
of the Three," 9 — "Suse," 9 — Carrie Chester, 1 — "Jink and Ray," 5 — A. W. Rundquist, 3 — Lottie and Maud, 1 — Dora F. Here- 
ford, 7 — " Chloe, '93," 9 — Josephine Sherwood, 9 — Maud and Dudley Banks, 9 — Grace P. Lawrence, 1 — Harold R. Cardwell and Rufus 
P. Spalding, 1 — Marjorie and Helen Hill, 1. 


5. A diseased person. Downward: 1. In tumblers. 2. A 
conjunction. 3. Pale. 4. Always. 5. The principal post 
at the foot of a staircase. 6. A word used by printers 
which means to take out. 7. To knock. 8. A pronoun. 
9. In tumblers. 

IV. Lower Rhomboid. Across: I. An animal allied 
to the weasel. 2. Ponderous volumes. 3. Small silver 
coins. 4. Pertaining to the country. 5. To send 
back. Downward: 1. In tumblers. 2. A preposition. 
3. Twenty-eight pounds. 4. An Arabian military com- 
mander. 5. A nocturnal animal found in Madagascar. 

6. Dry. 7. A masculine nickname. 8. A Chinese 
measure of distance. 9. In tumblers. "xelis." 


I. Upper Rhomboid. Across: i. Five hundred. 
2. The joint on which a door turns. 3. To delay. 4. Span- 
ish dollars. 5. General tendency. Downward : 1. In 
tumblers. 2. An expression of inquiry. 3. An eyot. 
4. A fastening. 5. The name of several species of herons 
which bear plumes on the back. 6. A dialect of the 
Celtic which is spoken in Scotland. 7. Yonder. 8. In 
such manner. 9. In tumblers. 

II. Left-hand Rhomboid : Across: i. A deep blue 
pigment. 2. A mental standard of perfection. 3. Ladies. 
4. Slender, strong cords. 5. A step. Downward: 1. In 
tumblers. 2. The third tone of the scale. 3. To aug- 
ment. 4. Loyal. 5. Tammy. 6. A season of fasting. 
7. A large body of water. 8. The seventh tone of the 
scale. 9. In tumblers. 

III. Right-hand Rhomboid: i. Aftermath. 2. Be- 
came delirious. 3. More recent. 4. To lay a second time. 

I. 1. In tense. 2. Aptly. 3. Emits. 4. A lizard. 

5. A union of three. 6. Sorrowful. 7. In tense. 

II. 1. In lump. 2. A verb. 3. Lifeless. 4. An order 
of exercises. 5. Blunder. 6. A seafaring man. 7. In 

III. 1. In marble. 2. To mimic. 3. A genus of 
tropical plants. 4. A marginal note on a letter or other 
paper. 5. To go in. 6. Atmosphere. 7. In marble. 


I. I. A letter. 2. An article. 3. Hurried. 4. An 
East Indian plant. 5. To filter. 6. Provoking. 7. Mov- 
ing swiftly. 8. Trampling. 9. Impeding. 

II. I. A letter. 2. A preposition. 3. To clear of 
seeds by a machine. 4. Accumulation. 5. Texture. 

6. Classing. 7. Boasting. 8. Traveling on foot. 9. A 
kind of grouse which chiefly inhabit the northern coun- 
tries of Europe, Asia, and America. "xelis." 





4 ■ » ■ 2 

Cross-words : i. 

A small animal. 2. A 

musical instrument. 3 

To praise highly 

4. A swift animal 

5. In hour-glass 

6. A verb. 7 
Goes before. 

Joyful. 9. Timid. 
Central letters, a signa- 
ture ; from I to 2, margins ; 
from 3 to 4, lawful. 

H. W. E. 


26 is an artificial 

barrier over 

which men or 

horses leap in a 

race. My 5- 

84-36-12 is a // 

homeless child. 

My 40-49-64- 

52-67 is the 

skeleton of a structure. My 32- 

89-28-72-11 is pertaining to (J! f J 

fishes. My 53-86-70-55 is 

most excellent. My 80-37-51- 

62-74-4 is a smith's shop. My 

46-8S-79-31-18 is to restrict r^ 3 [^\^ 
to a scant allowance. My 44- 1 / 

7-82-9 1 is to exercise for the }r"r ^*«*--^'^ 

sake of amusement. My 20-15-39-76-2 is much exas- 
perated. My 35-24-9-59-22-65-57 is an extinct hairy 
elephant of enormous size. L. W. 


I . . 4 .6 



I heav scodle ym skobo dan hinded ym teals 
Dan thornw ym clathes oscars het tage. 
Ym lochos si tou rof a sosane fo ster, 
Dan won rof eht closho-romo I vole eht steb. 
Ym clohos-moor she no eth wadome wied, 
Wheer drune teh crevol eht seambuns hied, 
Rhewe eth glon siven glinc ot eth symso rabs, 
Nad teh sidisae winklet kile flanel ratss. 


I. i. Tender to touch. 2. Spoken, 
bird. 4. A feminine name. 

II. 1. An edible fish. 2. Surface. 3. To give a sitting 
to. 4. To surfeit. frank burgess. 

3. A kind of 


I am composed of ninety-one letters, and am a quota- 
tion from Emerson's works. 

My 38-71-54 is a pronoun. My 30-16 is a conjunc- 
tion. My 21-33-6 is to hasten. My 87-63-45-19 is a 
covering for the human foot. My 73-27-25-5S is to 
flutter. My 81-48-90-13 is an oilstone. My 10-66- 
3-6 '-5° is the central part of an amphitheater. My 
69-7S-75-83-47 is to annoy. My 17-41-60-43-1 is aside. 
My 23-14-68-56-29 is acting without deliberation. My 

3 ... 5 •• 8 

From 1 to 6, a covering for a carpet ; from 2 to 7, a 
glove ; from 3 to 8, rovers ; from I to 3, a trifler ; from 
4 to 5, making a harsh sound ; from 6 to 8, fresh-water 
tortoises ; from I to 8, little songs ; from 6 to 3, an idle 
talker. "BEN bolt." 


All of the words described contain the same number 
of letters. When these are rightly guessed and placed 
one below another, in the order here given, the zigzag, 
beginning at the upper left-hand letter, will spell a name 
given to Democritus of Abdera. 

Cross-words : 1. The son of Odin. 2. A dull sound 
without resonance. 3. The company of seamen who 
man a ship. 4. That which feeds fire. 5. A sudden 
grasp. 6. Prodigious. 7. To swallow eagerly. S. Light, 
familiar talk. 9. To throw or give out. 10. A diagram. 
11. A gesture by which a thought is expressed. 12. On. 
13. The handle of a sword or dagger. 14. Placid. 15. To 
drive tarred oakum into the seams between the planks 
of a ship, to prevent leaking. 16. The name of the ship 
which carried Jason to Colchis. 17. A barrel-shaped 
vessel made to hold liquids. 18. One without judgment. 
19. What little Jack Horner picked out of the Christmas 
pie. 20. An old and intimate friend. 21. Extended. 
22. A large animal. L. W. 


(see page 761.) 


Vol. XX. 

AUGUST, 1893. 

Copyright, 1893, by The Century Co. All rights reserved. 

No. 10. 

F I were to ask a bright boy 
or girl, fresh from the 
school-book study of 
geography, to tell me 
what Baltimore is fam- 
ous for, I should expect 
this answer : " Baltimore 
is known as the Monumen- 
tal City." So it is. But that 
is only one distinction. Nevertheless we may 
begin our survey of the city with this phrase in 
mind, and see to what it leads us. 

Baltimore has long been called the Monu- 
mental City. I do not know who first em- 
ployed the term, nor when it came into use, 
but as far back as 1792 there was an obelisk 
on the outskirts of the town, commemorating 
Christopher Columbus. It was placed in an 
obscure position on private property, and by 
and by its purpose was forgotten, so that it 
came to be regarded as a monument erected 
by the owner of the property to the memory 


of his favorite horse. Recently its history has 
been published, and it ranks to-day as first in 
time, though not in art, among the American 
memorials of the Genoese navigator. 

There are higher claims to the " monumental " 
epithet. In the very heart of the city, on an 
eminence perhaps one hundred feet above the 
sea-level, there stands a noble marble column, 
probably suggested by the well-known pillars 
of Trajan and Marcus Aurelius in Rome, 
though not copied from either of them. It 
rises to a height of 160 feet, and is sur- 
mounted by a colossal statue of George Wash- 
ington, designed by Causici. Within the densely 
settled part of the city this is a most pictur- 
esque point. " I don't want to be out of sight 
of the monument," a little boy was heard to 
cry, as his nurse proposed to wheel his baby- 
carriage somewhat farther than usual from the 
corner of Mt. Vernon Place and Washington 
Place, where this column stands. " I don't 
want to be out of sight of the monument " is 




the natural impulse of the true Baltimorean. 
Let him travel as widely as he will, he returns 
to the Washington monument, and all that sur- 
rounds it, with admiration and affection; and 
well he may, for such a column, in such a posi- 
tion, and surrounded by such dwelling-houses, 
churches, libraries, and works of art, would be 
an ornament to Berlin or to Paris. 

Much nearer the water, close by the new 
Post-office, stands a trophy called the Battle 
Monument, because it commemorates the vic- 
tory at North Point, where the British were 
repulsed on the 12th of September, 1814. It 
was by these structures that Baltimore gained 
its name of " the monumental city," long be- 
fore Charlestown, Massachusetts, saw the obe- 
lisk completed uppn Bunker's Hill: long before 
Crawford's impressive group was placed in the 
State House grounds of Richmond, Virginia. 
In recent years other monuments in memory 
of individuals begin to appear. A shaft in 
memory of Colonel Armistead, the commander 
of Fort McHenry during its bombardment, 
stands in the southern part of the city. The 
Italians have erected in the park a statue of 
Columbus, and a generous citizen of Scotch 
descent is soon to place there a statue of Wil- 
liam Wallace. The bronze memorials of Taney 
and Peabody will soon be spoken of. 

If the visitor goes to the top of the Washing- 
ton monument he can survey a wide area that 
is occupied by the dwellings of more than half 
a million inhabitants. To the south, at the 
distance of more than a mile, he may see an 
arm of the Patapsco, which makes the harbor 
or basin of Baltimore ; he may descry the ship- 
ping, the great elevators, and the innumerable 
manufactories sending forth their clouds of 
smoke. He may possibly distinguish Sparrow's 
Point, the site of new Bessemer furnaces, far 
down the river. All this resembles the activity 
of other great seaports. But there is in view 
one point of unique interest, and if the historic 
sense is on duty, the observer will be most in- 
terested in making out the outlines of Fort 
McHenry, where the star-spangled banner 
" still waves " as boldly in the breeze as on the 
morning when Francis Scott Key wrote his 
immortal song. 

Turning toward the east, the spectator may 

cast his eye over a great industrial district 
known as Canton, and notice in the distance 
the trees of Patterson Park, where the ramparts 
are still standing that were thrown up in the 
war of 181 2. In that direction, Bay View, the 
public almshouse of the city, is conspicuous. 
Nearer by, just a mile to the east of the Wash- 
ington monument, there is an extensive group of 
buildings of which the central one is surmounted 
by a lofty dome. This group constitutes the 
hospital founded by Johns Hopkins, which is 
one of the most remarkable charities of the 
land. Every assistance that human ingenuity 
has devised for the relief of sickness and suffer- 
ing has here been introduced. But in addition, 
here is a corps of renowned physicians and sur- 
geons ministering to the needs of outdoor and 
of indoor patients; and they are assisted by a 
staff of qualified nurses who have been specially 
trained for such service, and are training others. 

If the observer looks to the north, he may 
notice a turret at Clifton, the summer residence 
of Johns Hopkins, beyond the grounds of the 
Samuel Ready Asylum and those of the School 
for the Blind; likewise the conspicuous tower of 
Xotre Dame, a Roman Catholic institution for 
the education of young ladies ; but his eye can- 
not reach far enough to trace the succession of 
lakes or reservoirs — Loch Raven, Montebello, 
and Clifton — in which the water of the "Gun- 
powder " stream is stored up for the supply of 
Baltimore. He may discover in the distance, 
at the northwest, the beautiful groves of Druid 
Hill Park, the city's plea'sure-ground, once a 
private estate, now a public resort, where lawns, 
trees, lakes, fountains, drives, and walks, in great 
variety, afford perpetual delight, in winter and 
in summer, to old and young, rich and poor, 
athletes and invalids. 

Directly west, within a distance of two or 
three miles, are the highlands that extend from 
the Relay House, on the south fork of the Pa- 
tapsco, many miles to the northward. Numer- 
ous country-seats are situated on these heights, 
commanding prospects that are wide and beau- 
tiful. Here also several of the hospitals and 
reformatories of the city have been placed. 

Through the region thus surveyed two water- 
courses run — Jones's Falls and Gwynn's Falls, 
streams of rapid descent, the natural drains of a 




wide area. Over Jones's Falls many costly 
bridges have been constructed, uniting Waver- 
ley and the districts of the northeast to the cen- 
tral part of the city. Many years ago, a clever 
citizen, half in earnest, half in fun, remarked that 
while Philadelphia and New York present flat 
surfaces, Baltimore has " found its increase ' an 
up-hill business,' and if the greatness of Rome 

1864. This admirable work ranks among the 
best portrait-statues produced in this country, 
and some would say it is the very best with 
the exception of the statue of Abraham Lincoln, 
by St. Gaudens, in Lincoln Park, Chicago. It 
is the work of William Henry Rinehart, a Balti- 
morean, whose life was ended in T874, just as he 
had acquired renown, at the age of forty-nine. 


arose from its being on seven hills, the destinies 
of Baltimore, that stands upon some seventy, 
may indeed defy anticipation ! " 

Let the visitor descend from the monument, 
having made himself acquainted with the lay of 
the land, and explore the city. He will at once 
be attracted by the works of art in the squares 
around the monument. On the north is a 
bronze statue of Roger B. Taney, of Maryland, 
Chief Justice of the United States from 1836 to 

The casts of his various works, and his marble 
statue of Clyde, may be seen in the Peabody 

West of the monument is the superb " Lion 
in Repose " (so called in distinction from the 
" Lion Clutching the Serpent "), the work of 
A. L. Barye of Paris, — a masterpiece by one 
of the foremost of modern sculptors. Near by 
are four smaller pieces, — " beautiful allegories " 
they have been called, — which were origi- 

726 BALTIMORE. [Aug. 

nally designed to decorate the pavilions of of Johns Hopkins, — but for some reason, the 

the new Louvre at Paris. They represent Peace, 
War, Force and Order. As a counterpart to 
the illustration of animal courage in repose, 
the western end of the park is adorned with 
a figure of a seated warrior, copied from one of 

mayor and common council have not yet ful- 
filled the purpose they have long entertained 
to pay a tribute of gratitude to the memory of 
a great benefactor. 

The large marble building which stands on 

the figures on a monument in Orleans to Gen- 
eral Lamoriciere, by Paul Dubois. No city in 
this country has such a group of works of art in 
any public place. Baltimore owes them all, and 
the statue of Taney, to the generosity of William 
T. Walters, who resides near by. His famous 
collection of paintings includes choice works of 
the Barbizon school, and many other admirable 
works by European and American artists. His 
Oriental collections of bronzes, lacquers, and 
porcelains, the finest work of Japan and China, 
are equally remarkable. He has also a unique 
collection of the works of Barye, perhaps the 
most comprehensive in existence, including sev- 
enty or eighty pieces, bronzes and paintings in 
oil and water-colors. His galleries are often 
opened to the public, usually for several weeks in 
the spring. 

On the eastern side of the monument is a 
bronze statue of George Peabody, by William 
W. Story, a copy of the one which stands near 
the Royal Exchange in the city of London. 
It is the gift of Mr. Robert Garrett. In Mt. 
Vernon Place there ought to be also a statue 

^> 5 


the corner near the monument is the Peabody 
Institute, endowed by the philanthropist whose 
name it bears. It might be termed an athe- 
naeum for promoting enjoyment and instruction 
in the city where Mr. Peabody resided between 
1815 and 1836. Here is a choice library, num- 
bering more than one hundred and ten thousand 
volumes, and a gallery containing many casts, 
paintings, and statues. Here also is maintained 
a conservatory of music, which provides syste- 
matic instruction for those who wish to become 
skilled as musicians, and gives every winter 
many classical concerts for the entertainment 
and instruction of the public. 

The corner-stone of this building was laid in 
1859. The west wing was finished in 1861. 
The east wing was begun several years later, 




and completed in 1878. When the library was 
ready to be opened to the public, Mr. Peabody 
came to Baltimore and was present at the 

The gift of Mr. Peabody bore more fruit than 
he had any reason to expect. It is well known 
that his example had a strong influence upon 
Johns Hopkins, who gave the principal part of 
his fortune to found a university and a hospital. 

Standing at the foot of the Washington 
monument, and looking eastward, the hospital, 
as I have already intimated, may be seen ; 
looking westward, the dome of an astronomi- 
cal observatory rises above a substantial brick 
building devoted by the Johns Hopkins Uni- 
versity to the science of physics. Let the visi- 
tor walk in that direction, and he will soon 
come upon a group of plain buildings which 
will seem to him hardly worthy of the fame of 
the university for whose uses they were de- 
signed. Let him not judge, however, by the 
outward appearance. Let him inquire into 
their uses ; let him examine their equipment. 
He will find a group of laboratories, devoted 
to physics, chemistry, biology, geology, miner- 
alogy, and electricity, well provided with the 
instruments and apparatus needed for instruc- 
tion and research. At the present time he 
will see the foundations of another large build- 
ing which is to be devoted to the study of lan- 
guage, history, and philosophy. He may learn 
that these advantages are enjoyed by a com- 
pany of more than five hundred scholars, — 
three fifths of whom have already taken their 
first degree, and are now engaged in advanced 
studies under a corps of able professors. If 
he investigates a little more closely, he will dis- 
cover that hundreds of those who have been 
taught in the university — since it was opened 
in 1876 — have been engaged as teachers in 
universities and colleges and high schools in 
widely distant parts of the country. He will 
perceive that the university spirit pervades the 
entire corps of students, who are aided and in- 
spired by the learning, the devotion, and the 
renown of a distinguished faculty. 

At a short distance farther west a large plat 
is devoted to the buildings of St. Mary's Sem- 
inary, where two hundred students are now 
training for the priesthood of the Roman Catho- 

lic Church. In bygone days, St. Mary's main- 
tained an academic department or college. 

The grounds directly opposite the university 
belong to a school for young ladies. At the 
head of Centre street stand the walls of the 
City College, a high-school for young men, — 
which may well be called the crown of the 
public-school system of the city. 

It is a walk of five or six minutes from the 
Washington monument to the principal build- 
ing of the Enoch Pratt Free Library — one of 
the four great institutions which are due to 
munificent gifts from Baltimore merchants. A 
fine building and an excellent collection of 
books may here be seen. In addition to this 
central library, there are five branches in dis- 
tinct districts, — all of them freely open to the 
public. If the Peabody Library is likened to a 
storehouse and the Hopkins Library to a bee- 
hive, the Pratt Library may be regarded as a 
reservoir from which the streams are carried 
into every house. 

Not far away from the Pratt is a social 
library called the New Mercantile, where the 
subscribers have the unusual privilege of di- 
rect access to the book-shelves, and where the 
freshest books and the current magazines and 
newspapers are to be found. In the afternoons, 
the comfortable chairs of this attractive room 
are commonly occupied by some of the brightest 
of the intellectual people of Baltimore. 

In this neighborhood is situated the hall of 
the Maryland Historical Society, which owns 
an excellent collection of historical books, and 
has many manuscripts, archives, and relics, il- 
lustrating the history of Maryland. Special 
libraries of law and medicine are near by. These 
facts justify a remark which has repeatedly 
been made, that no city of this country has 
library facilities better than those of Baltimore. 

The educational and literary resources of 
Baltimore may be illustrated by a simple dia- 
gram. Take a map of the city, and from the 
Pratt Library as a central point, strike a circle 
with a radius of half a mile. Within that cir- 
cuit will be found libraries that include in all 
about four hundred thousand volumes, and a 
group of colleges and professional schools with 
not less than thirty-five hundred scholars, ex- 
clusive of those in attendance upon private 




schools, and those of the " grammar " grade in 
the public-school system. 

Special mention should be made of the in- 
stitutions for the instruction of young women. 
In addition to the State Normal School, and 
the two Female High Schools, there is a Wo- 
man's College in the northern part of the city, 
which has had a remarkably successful growth 
during the last four or five years. The Bryn 
Mawr school for girls, which takes its name 
from the Bryn Mawr College for women, near 
Philadelphia, has a new and excellent building 
well furnished with many admirable appliances. 

A few of the churches of Baltimore are fine 
buildings. Among them the cathedral is for 
many reasons the most famous. When the 
last great council was held in 1884, it was 
an impressive and memorable sight to see the 
archbishops and bishops of so many dioceses, 
together with the representatives of the historic 
orders, — Augustinians, Benedictines, Francis- 
cans, Dominicans, and others, — proceed in 
their distinctive robes, with their attendants, 
from the archbishop's residence to the chief 
portal of the cathedral before taking their 
places under its spacious dome. 

Two general conventions of the Protestant 
Episcopal Church have been held in Balti- 
more, — the first at Grace Church in 1871, and 
the second at Emmanuel Church in 1892. St. 
Paul's Church, at the corner of Charles and 
Saratoga streets, is the mother church of the 
Episcopalians. All these buildings are note- 

The Presbyterian Church was established in 
Baltimore soon after the Church of England, 
and the first ecclesiastical society of that de- 
nomination has a Gothic building on Madison 
street, with a lofty stone spire, which is one 
of the principal architectural ornaments of the 
city. In general the newer churches, in dif- 
ferent parts of the city and of various denomi- 
nations, are attractive buildings. An^ong the 
best are the Methodist Church on Mt. Vernon 
Place, the Associate Reformed Church, the 
Jenkins Memorial Church, and, close to the 
Woman's College, the Methodist Church with 
an impressive tower. 

The City Hall and the United States Post- 
office and Court-house, in the business cen- 

ter, are large, new, and well-furnished build- 
ings; but there is a charm of quite a different 
sort in the old brick Court-house near by, 
with which the names of men distinguished on 
the bench and at the bar are associated. 

This may be to the reader a tedious enu- 
meration of the buildings of Baltimore; for, after 
all, they are not of extraordinary interest when 
compared with those of other cities. An in- 
telligent visitor may derive more pleasure in 
discovering some good examples of modern 
domestic architecture, and some relics of colo- 
nial or at least of eighteenth-century architec- 
ture still standing in the older portions of the 
town. The rectory of St. Paul's Church, oppo- 
site the Hotel Rennert, is one of the best of 
these old dwellings. Next to it is a modern 
dwelling where Johns Hopkins lived. Other 
broad double houses, cube-shaped, built near 
the middle of this century, are models of do- 
mestic comfort, and it is a pity that they should 
have been superseded by the narrow fronts that 
afterward became the fashion. In the business 
parts of the city, large structures, admirably 
adapted to the wants of banks, trust companies, 
insurance companies, and the offices of lawyers, 
have multiplied greatly within the last ten years. 

From this enumeration of the institutions of 
Baltimore, and this survey of its public build- 
ings, let us turn to its society and personages; 
for, after all, people are more interesting than 
places. It is never an easy task for a resident 
of a city to point out its peculiar charms. 
Neither his praise nor his censure is likely to 
be quite acceptable. Yet one who has be- 
come acquainted with many cities, in different 
parts of the world, cannot but perceive that 
the Monumental City has its distinct character- 
istics, its attractive individuality. It used to be 
said that in Boston a stranger was asked, 
"What do you know?" — in New York, "What 
are you worth ? " — and in Philadelphia, " Who 
was your grandfather ? " I have never heard 
any such queries here, though before long it 
may be asked of young ladies as well as of 
young men, " Where did you go to college ? " 
Mr. George W. Cable, after spending for the 
first time a morning in Baltimore, admired its 
"thoroughly Southern appearance." When re- 
quested to explain this observation, he said he 





had noticed these peculiarities : the appearance 
of comfort in the dwelling-houses, the content- 
ment of the colored people, and the aspect of 
leisure in the bearing of gentlemen whom he met 
in the street. He had hit upon three character- 
istics : comfort, leisure, and the ready and al- 
most friendly service of the blacks. This was 
truth, but not all the truth. Certainly, when 
compared with the larger American cities 
(Brooklyn excepted), Baltimore has an air of 
quietness favorable to enjoyment. Neither 
fashions nor affairs have gained the ascend- 
ancy. When the Academy of Music was built 
as a place of refined entertainment to be 
owned and controlled by cultivated people, the 
key-note of the speaker (Mr. Wallis, the un- 
equaled orator of Baltimore) was " leisure." 
To promote the enjoyment of leisure was 
the purpose of Mr. Peabody's gift. The at- 
mosphere of leisure has been favorable to the 
development of institutions of learning. And 

so, along with this freedom from 
all noise and bustle and this at- 
mosphere of repose, we find socia- 
bility, marked by frequent, easy, 
C friendly hospitality rather than by 

balls and banquets. Philanthropy 
and charity, even religious charity, 
often assume the garb of enter- 
tainment. Bazaars and fairs, pink teas and 
strawberry festivals, plays and tableaux, all 
have their turn. I write these lines midway be- 
tween two exhibitions of the " Fete of Queen 
Louise" — a charming series of tableaux and 
pageants in which the belles and beaux of 
Baltimore are taking part (at a very consider- 
able outlay of time and money), in order that 
funds may be secured for a free kindergarten. 
Not many years ago there were two exhibitions 
of works of art for the sake of charity. Like 
entertainments are of course given elsewhere, 
but I doubt whether they are usually such so- 
cial events. 

Southern courtesy and Northern vigor meet 
on this middle ground, " the most Northern of 
Southern cities, the most Southern of North- 
ern." I have heard it said that English is 
spoken with unusual purity of tone and pro- 
nunciation by the ladies of Baltimore; and they 
are as celebrated for their beauty as for their 




graciousness of manner and excellence of speech. 
Not a few have married distinguished foreign- 
ers. The romantic story of Miss Patterson, 
whose husband was brother of Napoleon and 
King of Westphalia, has often been told. Nor 
is it forgotten that granddaughters of Charles 

He was repeatedly called into public life, and 
as a member of Mr. Fillmore's cabinet signed 
the papers that governed the Perry expedition 
to Japan, and the second expedition of Dr. 
Kane to the arctic seas. His stories " Swal- 
low Barn " and " Horse Shoe Robinson " were 


Carroll of Carrollton became respectively Mar- 
chioness of Wellesley, Lady Stafford, and Duch- 
ess of Leeds. 

Many men of Baltimore have won national 
fame. In the second quarter of this century 
(perhaps it would be nearer the truth to say in 
the thirty years before the opening of the war) 
here were merchant princes, brilliant lawyers, 
ready wits, skilful politicians, whose hospitality 
became famous throughout the land, and whose 
public spirit prepared the way for the intellec- 
tual life of the present day. Some of those 
who were then mature and influential are still 
living, and as one after another they go over 
to the majority, others take their places and 
keep up their reputation. 

Among the literary men of that time, Mr. 
John P. Kennedy acquired a high distinction. 

widely read. His influence on George Pea- 
body is well known. It is said, but I do not 
know on what authority, that an intimacy with 
Thackeray led to Kennedy's writing one of the 
chapters of "The Virginians" which called for 
accurate local descriptions. 

Dr. Holmes once said that Maryland might 
claim the honor of having given to the world 
three poems, each the best of its kind : " The 
Star-Spangled Banner," " The Raven," and 
" Maryland, my Maryland." Mr. Randall, 
the author of the verses last named, the favor- 
ite song of the Confederacy, is living, so I will 
not venture to speak of him ; but of the others 
who were praised by the Autocrat, something 
more than mention may be permitted. 

Francis Scott Key is chiefly famous, as a poet, 
for that stirring patriotic song, "The Star-Span- 




gled Banner," which he wrote under circum- 
stances of great excitement. The familiar story 
will bear repetition to the youths of every gen- 
eration. After their successful attack upon Wash- 
ington in the early autumn of 1814, the British 
undertook the capture of Baltimore. Part of 
their forces landed at North Point, some fifteen 
miles below the city, and were repulsed by a 
brave corps of volunteers. Meanwhile the fleet 
of sixteen vessels proceeded up the Patapsco 
and attacked Fort McHenry, a very short dis- 
tance from the town. During twenty-four hours 
uninterrupted volleys of rocket and shell were 
thrown toward the fort, but in vain. Key 
watched the battle, through a night of anxiety, 
from the deck of a vessel which was near the 
British men-of-war. He had gone there to ne- 
gotiate for the release of a friend made captive 
in Washington. The 
commander of the fleet 
would not release the 
prisoner or the negotia- 
tor until the attack was 
over. Pacing the deck 
of this vessel while the 
bombardment was in 
progress, Key composed 
the greater part of his 
immortal song. 

Edgar Allan Poe is a 
name of greater renown. 
This extraordinary ge- 
of the most brilliant of 
American writers, was a 
Baltimorean by family 
ties, though he did not 
reside here for any long 
periods. Richmond, 
Boston, and New York were likewise the scenes 
of his short life. Yet it was here that his 
talents first received recognition and encour- 
agement, when a prize of $100, offered by the 
Saturday Visitor, was awarded to him, and he 
was thus brought to the notice of Mr. Ken- 
nedy and other literary men. Here his kin- 
dred resided. Here he died, at the early age of 
forty years, and here his body lies buried. In 
1875 the teachers of Baltimore erected a mon- 
ument over his grave. 

To the names of these two poets that of Sid- 
ney Lanier should be added; for although he 
was a native of Georgia, it was during his resi- 
dence in Baltimore, from 1876 onward, that he 
acquired his fame. He was a musician, as well 
as a poet and critic. His brave spirit, con- 
tending against many difficul- 
ties, attracted the admiration 
of devoted friends. His poems 
have been read with increasing 
favor ever since their publica- 
tion. He died in 1881. 

Baltimore is the only Ameri- 
can city where a cardinal of 
the Roman Catholic Church 
resides. Cardinal Gibbons fol- 
lows a long line of distin- 
guished prelates, Arch- 



bishop Carroll, the Revo- 
lutionary patriot, and Arch- 
bishop Kenrick, famous as 
a scholar and writer, being 
among the most distin- 
guished. Bishop Whitting- 
ham, of the Protestant 
Episcopal Church, bore a 
high reputation for learning, 
and bequeathed to his successors in office a 
valuable library. 

Baltimore used to be a favorite stopping-place 
for statesmen on their way to or from Washing- 
ton, and when Barnum 's Hotel gave place, a 
few months ago, to a new and different edifice, 
the names were revived of many illustrious per- 
sonages who had there been entertained. 

The drama was always encouraged, and 
among the actors who won distinction here, 
the Booths are sure to be remembered. 




The bench and the bar of Maryland have 
always held an honorable place in the respect 
of the profession throughout the land. When 
the names of those who have distinguished 
themselves as lawyers and statesmen come to 
mind, it is hard to determine which are most 
worthy to be mentioned. Not a few are eminent 
both as statesmen and as judges. Many have 
left behind them the reputation of learning, 
eloquence, and wit. Charles Carroll of Car- 
rollton, the last surviving signer of the Declara- 
tion, Robert Goodloe Harper, William Wirt, 
and William Pinkney were among those who 
acquired a national fame. Roger B. Taney 
and Reverdy Johnson belong to a somewhat 
later period. 

At the present time the foreign commerce of 
Baltimore consists largely in the shipment of 
grain, tobacco, and cattle. Frequently steamers 
cross the Atlantic to English and German ports. 
The trade with Brazil, mostly by sailing vessels, 

are gathered in the neighboring bay, and are 
here packed for distribution all over the land. 
The terrapin, the soft-shelled crab, and the 
canvas-back duck are at home here, and the 
remark has been heard that as this is the gas- 
tronomic center of the country, a terrapin, sur- 
mounted by a duck, ought to stand on top of 
the Washington monument. 

As a commercial city, Baltimore has had the 
advantage of its position, near the head of 
Chesapeake Bay. Early in the century it was 
at the eastern end of the national highway 
that crossed the Alleghanies. The Baltimore 
and Ohio Railroad was almost the first to put 
into service the steam-locomotive. It is now 
one of the great trunk-lines of the continent, con- 
tributing in innumerable ways to the welfare of 
the community. The Pennsylvania railroad sys- 
tem has also fixed upon Baltimore as one 
of its most important centers of operation. 
The first electric telegraph extended from Bal- 



is also important. Formerly large quantities of 
sugar were imported, and at an earlier period 
the white wings of the Baltimore clippers were 
famous all over the world as they brought with 
fleetness the products of China to the harbor of 
the Chesapeake. 

The oyster-beds are among the sources of 
the wealth of Baltimore. Immense quantities 

timore to Washington. Illuminating gas was, 
it is claimed, first introduced here. 

Modern industry turns toward manufactures, 
and Baltimore has its fair variety of establish- 
ments which employ a large number of per- 
sons. Its silverware has been famous for three 
generations. Its porcelain has acquired a wide 
reputation ; its bells chime in hundreds of 




towers. The printer's 
craft is held in honor; 
lithography thrives ; 
furniture and clothing 
and manifold minor 
articles are produced 
in great quantities ; iron- 
foundries, copperworks, 
oil-refineries, Bessemer 
furnaces, sugar-houses, 
and machine-shops em- 
ploy large amounts of 
capital. The type-set- 
ting machine, one of the 
most ingenious pieces 
of mechanism mankind 
has invented, is a Balti- 
more invention. 

All these industries 

are promoted by the lessons given in the conscious of its own powers, the acknowledg- 
Manual Training School, and by the evening ments of other communities come to it slowly. 


classes maintained at the Maryland Institute 
in its School of Design — the forerunner of the 
Cooper, Pratt, and Drexel institutes of other 

So I end my survey of Baltimore. As I look 
over what is written, I perceive that it presents 
the view of but one man, and one who is par- 
ticularly interested in education. Even so. I 
believe that, in all such respects, Baltimore is 
to be the leader of the New South. Hardly 

Time will bring changes, and the aspirations 
of Sidney Lanier, in his "Ode to Johns Hopkins 
University," may yet be fulfilled : 

And here, O finer Pallas, long remain, — 

Sit on these Maryland hills, and fix thy reign, 

And frame a fairer Athens than of yore 

In these blest bounds of Baltimore, — 

Here, where the climates meet 
That each may make the other's lack complete, — 
Where Chesapeake holds frankly forth her hands 
Spread wide with invitation to all lands. 














By Thomas Tapper. 

"Ah, — there 's rain/' piped Robin Red 

Perched in his peach-tree tower. 
" Now, keep away," the posies said 
"This is a private shower." 


L '$> 

The robin looked and looked again, 
< And then he thought a spell ; 
" Why, that 's no more a real, true rain 
Than looking down the well." 



By Mrs. C. V. Jamison. 

Aitt/wr of "Lady Jane." 

\BegUtt in the May number. ] 

Chapter XI. 


HEN Philip and Dea 
ran to Seline and 
showed her the bright 
dollars they had earn- 
ed so quickly, the 
good woman was de- 
lighted. " Now, chil'- 
run, you 's on der 
way ter git rich," 
she said, showing her white teeth in a gen- 
erous smile. " I wish m'sieur would wan' ter 
paint my Lilybel ; but he 's too ugly. Lilybel 's er 
fright, he is, an' I don't see how come dat boy 's 
so plain; his pa was a right handsome man, 
an' his two little sisters was as pretty chil'run as 
yer ever seed. Sometimes, when I gets ter 
studyin' 'bout Lilybel, I 's most outdone," and 
Seline's broad smile changed to an expression 
of great perplexity. " I ain't jes' sure ef dat boy 
means ter tell lies, er if he 'magines what he 
done tole ; he 's got a powerful 'imagination, 
Lilybel has, an' a awful weak mem'ry. Any- 
how, I can't put no conference in dat chile; I 's 
done found out 'bout dat story he tole, chil'run ; 
he ain't never fall in der never! He jes' sot 
down with er pa'cel of triflin' chil'run an' stuffed 
heself with dem cakes an' pralines, an' forgot 
ter bring der basket home." 

Philip and Dea expressed their opinion of 
Lilybel's too vivid imagination in a way that 
comforted Seline greatly ; their happiness was 
hers, and very soon she forgot her own troubles 
in listening to their glowing account of the 
morning's adventures. 

" Seline, it 's the most beautiful place you 
ever saw ; and he has, oh, lots of pictures ! He 's 
painted them himself. He wants us to come 
Vol. XX.— 47. 7 

again, and madame kissed us both — did n't 
she, Dea? — and told us to come to-morrow." 

"And I am to bring the ' Toilers,'" exclaimed 
Dea, her little face tremulous with excitement. 
" Monsieur is going to help me sell it for a 
hundred francs; pauv' papa will be so happy." 

" My, my ! a hundred francs ! Yer is in luck, 
chile ; yer goin' ter be rich, shore ; an', Mars' 
Philip, I 's done sole all yer flowers while yer 's 
been gettin' yer dollar. I s'pose yer wants ter 
run home ter tell yer mammy all dem good 
newses; here's yer dimes"; and Seline dropped 
a handful of silver into Philip's outstretched 
palm. Then, as happy and blithe as two sing- 
ing-birds, the children hurried to their respective 
homes to tell of their good fortune. 

When Philip opened the gate and saw Toi- 
nette with folded hands and sitting very quietly 
on the little gallery, he was alarmed. It was so 
unusual to see her idle that he thought she was 
ill. " What 's the matter, Mammy?" he called 
out anxiously before he reached her. 

" Nothing, cher" she replied, as she took off 
his hat and stroked his damp hair. " I had no 
orders for this evening, and I was tired, so I 
dropped down here to rest ; I can't work so 
hard as I used to." 

" Well, you need n't to, Mammy. I can earn 
lots for you. Just look at this." And he drew 
out his bright dollar. " All this for an hour or 

" The artist must be very generous," said 
Toinette. " Did he give Dea as much ? " 

"Yes, Mammy, he gave Dea the same. I 
wish you could see the picture of us he 's 
painting; he 's got Dea's red frock and my 
blue trousers just as natural! — when it 's done 
I 'm going to take you to see it." 

" It 's a long way to go, my child, and I may 
not be able. I 'm not so strong as I used to 
be ; but put your money away ; keep it for 
yourself — it 's yours." 




" No, Mammy, you take it. It 's for you; all 
I earn is for you," said Philip, his eyes filled 
with love and generosity as he urged it upon 

" Well, we will lock it up in the box, and 
when you need it for something, you shall have 
it. And now, my child, I want you to help me. 
I must transplant these pansies this evening, 
and for some reason I felt as if I could n't 
begin until you came." 

"I '11 help you, Mammy, dear; just let me 
take off my best clothes," said Philip, cheerfully, 
as he ran to his room. 

" What a good boy he is," thought Toinette, 
" so gentle and obedient ! Dear, dear child, 
who will love him as I have ? " And as she 
went slowly down the steps to the garden, she 
brushed away more than one regretful tear. 

A half-hour later, Philip, in his every-day 
clothes, was working away busily at the pansies, 
while Toinette sat on a little stool beside him, 
directing him how to set them. The boy. with 
his brown head bent over the new earth, was 
whistling softly. Presently, a beautiful cardinal- 
bird flew down and began fluttering familiarly 
about his small spade. " Go away, ' Major,' " 
he said without stopping ; " I can't play with 
you now, but there 's a nice fat worm for you." 
The bird gave a low trill of thanks, seized the 
unwilling worm, and flew off to a near bush 
where he chirped contentedly to his mate. 

" Hello, there 's the ' Singer,' " said Philip, 
after a moment. " I knew he 'd come." As he 
spoke, a mocking-bird over his head burst into 
a clear, impatient song, circling rapidly around, 
and brushing the boy with his wings as if to 
attract his attention. 

" It 's strange," said Toinette, musingly, 
" how birds and butterflies come around you. 
They never fear you. I suppose it 's because 
you never hurt them." 

" It 's because I love them, and they know it; 
that 's why they come. I 've lived here a long 
time with them. It 's our home; we 're all one 
family; and, Mammy, you 're the dear old 

He kept on working, with his bright head 
bent, and he did not see the tears in Toinette's 
eyes. It was very lovely and peaceful. The 
place was full of sweet scents and sounds. 

The broken white columns, covered with a 
profusion of roses and jasmines, looked like a 
bower in a sylvan nook of Arcady. The ruins 
of the Detrava mansion were mounds of green 
and bloom. There was nothing dreary, nothing 
unsightly; no suggestion of age and decay — 
but all spoke of youth, fresh eternal youth. 
Perhaps it was the strong contrast of the boy, 
the flowers, and the singing-birds that made 
Toinette feel so old and feeble as she sat there, 
her toil-worn hands folded on her lap, and 
her dim eyes fixed with a tender protecting 
love on the merry little fellow who worked in 
happy unconsciousness of the sorrows of age. 

Presently the gate-bell rang, and its loud 
jangle startled Philip from his work and Toi- 
nette from her reverie. 

"Run, child — it is some one in a hurry"; 
and Toinette left her seat and hastened to meet 
the newcomer. It was Pere Josef. He walked 
up the path very hurriedly, brushing the obtru- 
sive roses with the skirts of his worn black 
coat ; his narrow dark face wore an expression 
of mingled surprise and sorrow. In one hand 
he carried a bundle tied up in a red-and-yellow 
handkerchief. Without glancing to . the right 
or left, he hastened up the steps to the gallery, 
and set the bundle on the small table with an 
air of resolution. 

" Toinette, my good friend ; Philip, my dear 
boy, I 've brought them to you. There they 
are, mes enfants, mes chers pciitcs enfants!" He 
spoke firmly, but in a sad, constrained voice. 

Toinette and Philip looked at him aston- 
ished. "Why, Pere Josef! — why do you do 
this ? " said Toinette. 

" Did his reverence tell you you must ? " 
asked Philip, anxiously. " Did he know about 
your pets ? " 

" No, no, my dear boy ; he had heard no- 
thing. It was a matter of more importance. 
I was unwise to think the archbishop would 
trouble himself about such folly. He sent for 
me to give me instructions. I am to leave on 
a mission. I go to-night." 

" Oh, Pere Josef, to-night! Is it far ? Will it 
be for long? " cried Toinette and Philip in the 
same breath. 

" I can't say. I can't tell you anything. 
I 'm like a ship sailing under sealed orders; 




but from some remarks of the archbishop, I " And they have been so much company, 

think it will not be for long. I go to do the such a pleasure to you," said Toinette, with 

work of a brother who is ill. When he recovers, ready sympathy, 

it is likely I shall return." " Yes, and that is just where I have done 


" But can't you take your little pets with you, 
Pere Josef?" asked Philip. "You will be so 
unhappy without them." 

" My child, I might take them, and I shall 
be miserable without them. But it would 
scarcely be proper for a servant of the church 
to start on a sacred mission carrying a cage 
of white mice with him"; and Pere Josef 
smiled. " It 's a trial, but I must leave them." 


wrong. I have made companions of these in- 
nocent little animals, — I have grown to love 
them, — and now I see that I have neglected 
my duties. My good friend, I have spent many 
hours teaching these pets folly, when I should 
have been teaching human beings something 
useful. Life is too short to waste any part of 
it, but — but they were so innocent, so charm- 
ing, and really they seemed to love me." And 



Pere Josef winked and coughed, and rubbed his 
nose vigorously with his coarse handkerchief. 

" I '11 be very good to them ; I '11 take good 
care of them ; and when you come back you '11 
have them again," said Philip, consolingly. 

" I know you '11 be kind to them. They 're 
very affectionate, and I don't think they will 
forget me. When I return, perhaps I will take 
them again — that is, if I am not too fond of 
them. However, Philip, I leave them with 
you; I give them to you until I claim them. 
Good-by, my dear boy," and he held out his 
thin hand ; " be obedient and studious while I 
am gone." And Pere Josef turned away and 
walked hurriedly down the path, followed closely 
by Toinette. 

So busy was Philip taking the covering from 
the cage, that he did not notice how earnestly 
Toinette and the little priest were talking as 
they stopped for a moment near the gate. 
With his hand on the latch, Pere Josef was say- 
ing : " The papers will be safe during my ab- 
sence. I leave them, with mine, in the care 
of a friend. If you need them before I return, 
he will give them to you"; and he mentioned 
a name and address. 

Toinette replied : " I hope I shall not need 
them, and that when you come back you will 
find everything as it is now." 

" I trust so, my good Toinette. We are in 
the hands of God. An revoir — not adieu." 

As Philip looked up he saw the black figure 
of Pere Josef vanish through the gate, and 
again he thought : " I did n't ask Pere Josef, 
after all, and now he is gone. Well, I must 
wait until he comes back." 

Chapter XII. 


USETTE, do you know 
it is papa's birthday ? " 
said Dea one morning 
to the old woman who 
often came to cook and 
do heavy work for the 
little housekeeper. 

" No, Ma'mselle, I 
did n't know it," said the kind Susette; "but 
I 'm thankful your papa is here to see another 


birthday — and so much better than he was. 
Why, he 's like another man!" 

" He smiled this morning when I wished him 
bon Jour" said Dea, her own serious little face 
dimpling at the pleasant thought ; " and it 's 
the first time for so long. Yes, he 's better and 
happier, and I want him to have a good birth- 
day dinner. I want you to go to market. He 
must have some soup and fish, and a nice little 
chicken, some pease, and a salad ; and I am 
going to surprise him with some fruit, because, 
Susette, we are almost rich now, you know, and 
it is his birthday." 

" Very well, Ma'mselle; I will gladly do just 
what you wish," returned the old woman, with 
pleased alacrity. 

" And, Susette, don't say anything to papa. 
I want to surprise him. You will cook the 
dinner nicely, and I will arrange the table. 
Philip has promised me some flowers, and 
Seline is going to make me a birthday cake. 
I will bring them when I come from mon- 
sieur's. Now don't disturb papa, because he 
is very busy ; he is working on an order — he is 
making a medallion of monsieur's little boy, 
who is dead. He is making it from a photo- 
graph, and it is such a pretty face. Papa is so 
interested in it. When it is finished I am to 
take it to monsieur, and he will pay a great 
deal for it. Now please be very quiet and 
careful, Susette." 

" I will, Ma'mselle, I will," replied the old 
woman, looking at Dea doatingly; " and I '11 
do the marketing as cheap as I can. You 
won't be ashamed of your papa's birthday 

" Pain'' papa, it 's so long since he had a 
birthday ! I want this to be a happy one. 
Now I 'm going to hum- to Rue Royale. Give 
me my basket, and I will bring the flowers and 

Within a few weeks a great change had 
taken place in the small cottage on Villere 
street. To the poor artist in wax a little suc- 
cess meant a great deal. At last he had found 
some one to appreciate his peculiar talent; and 
ill and suffering though he was, his beclouded 
mind grasped that fact and held to it. It 
seemed to give him new life and hope; he 
saw before him the means of support for him- 

i8 93 .] 



self and the patient, tender little creature who 
clung to him so faithfully in all his trouble. 
One by one his beautiful groups and figures 
had disappeared from his dingy room, to find 
in Mr. Ainsworth's studio admirers and pur- 
chasers; and the careful, mature child, with all 
the burden of life on her slender shoulders, 
knew how to economize the generous sums she 
received for them. Therefore it was no wonder 
that when Dea, who a few weeks before had 
lacked a nickel to buy bread, looked at the 
little pile of bank-notes locked safely in her 
father's desk, she thought that she was rich and 
could well afford a birthday dinner. 

They had not always been so poor. Some 
years before, when the artist in wax first came 
from France, he had quite a handsome sum of 
money. He bought the small cottage in Vil- 
lere street, and furnished it neatly for his 
pretty young wife, a gentle industrious girl 
who had been a governess in a rich family, 
and who eked out their small income by giving 
piano lessons to the little Creoles in the neigh- 
borhood. The artist, always peculiar, with his 
strange worship for the great French writer, 
quietly studied and illustrated the books that 
he adored. Sometimes he worked with his 
pencil, but oftener with the plastic medium of 
wax. Now and then he sold some of his small 
figures, and occasionally he had an order for a 
portrait medallion, and in this way the quiet 
years passed until the young wife was taken 
away ; after that his health failed, and the 
heavy burden of existence fell upon the frail 
child who was bearing it so bravely. 

When Dea reached the studio in Rue Roy- 
ale, she found Philip already there. He was 
seated at a table beside Mrs. Ainsworth, with a 
plate of delicious strawberries before him, and 
Mr. Ainsworth was working very busily on a 
charming little study he was making of the group. 

These visits to the studio were the beginning 
of a new life to the boy, and every day the 
charm of it increased. Mrs. Ainsworth had 
become deeply interested in him, and treated 
him with the greatest affection, and Mr. Ains- 
worth encouraged the intimacy when he saw 
his wife more cheerful and in better health. 
Every day he planned to keep the boy with 
them as much as possible. After making a 

great many studies of the little models, he had 
begun teaching Philip the rudiments of draw- 
ing. The boy had brought his rude sketches 
to the artist, who saw in them evidences of 
talent ; and as Toinette was anxious to have 
him learn, Mr. Ainsworth found it a pleasure 
to teach the intelligent, docile little fellow. 

Often when the artist and his wife were alone 
they seriously discussed the future of the child, 
and wondered to what destiny he was born. A 
vague wish was in the heart of each that neither 
liked to be the first to express. There was one 
thing of which they were certain. He was neces- 
sary to their happiness. The days were brighter 
when he came, and sadder when he remained 
away. They were very fond of Dea, but she 
had not grown into their hearts as Philip had. 
It was the striking resemblance to their lost 
boy, the eyes, the hair, a tone in his voice, in 
his laugh, a way of looking at them, that made 
them long to keep him always. The weather 
was very warm, and often they spoke of going 
north ; but day after day they lingered, fasci- 
nated with this new affection. 

When Dea's radiant face appeared at the 
door, Philip left his strawberries and ran joy- 
fully to meet her, crying, " Here are the flowers 
for your papa's birthday. Mammy sent them 
to you with lots of good wishes." 

Dea thanked him with a tremulous smile as 
she took the beautiful roses and laid them care- 
fully in her basket. Her little heart was very 
full, and she could not say much. 

" Here are some strawberries for you, my 
dear," said Mrs. Ainsworth, making room be- 
side her. " They were so tempting to Philip 
that I would not let him wait until you came." 

" If you please, Madam, may I take them 
home and eat them with papa ? It is his birth- 

"Certainly, my child, if you would rather"; 
and Mrs. Ainsworth filled a little basket and 
placed it beside the flowers. 

" Have you a birthday present for your papa, 
Dea ? " asked Mr. Ainsworth, who was watch- 
ing the child's varying expression of delight. 
Her care for her father was half pathetic and 
half amusing. 

" No, Monsieur," she replied a little sadly ; 
" that is, I have n't much beside the flowers 




and Seline's cake. I wanted to get the book, 
but — but it was twenty-five francs, and I could 
not pay so much." 

Mr. Ainsworth looked at his wife and smiled. 
" Well, my dear, don't be unhappy. Your father 
shall have the book; he shall have it for his 
birthday. It is a present from you. You have 
been such a patient little model that I don't 
feel as though I had half paid you. I give 
you this to make it up," and he handed her 
the book neatly covered with tissue-paper tied 
with a narrow ribbon. 

Dea took the package silently. Her softly 
tinted cheeks turned quite pale, and her eyes 
seemed to distend with surprise and delight. 
" Oh, oh ! " she gasped at length, " how glad 
pauv' papa will be ! I can't thank you now, 
Monsieur, I can't — I can't!" and bursting into 
sudden tears of gratitude, she took her basket 
and hurried away without another word. 

When she reached home, her father was still 
bending over his delicate work, quite unmind- 
ful of everything, birthdays included. She said 
nothing to him. She was pale and excited, and 
her small face wore a look of great importance. 

" Susette," she cried eagerly, as she entered 
the kitchen. " How is the dinner getting on?" 

" Finely, Ma'mselle, finely. I got artichokes, 
the first in the market, and such a fat chicken, 
and all for so little, and a handful of meat 
scraps for Homo for lagniappe!"* 

"And, oh, Susette, I have strawberries! 
Madam gave me strawberries. What will 
papa say when he sees it all ? And the book, 
the book ! " 

She was so excited that her fluttering little 
fingers could scarcely arrange the few pieces of 
china and silver, the remnants of their better 
fortunes ; but at last, when all was ready, and 
the book — the much-coveted book — was laid 
by her father's plate, with the fruit and flowers 
at each side of the table, and Seline's beautiful 
cake in the center, she could hardly wait for 
the dinner to be served. She flitted constantly 
back and forth between the kitchen and the 
little dining-room, discussing, inspecting, and 
directing everything, until she went to lead her 
father to the table. 

" Papa, do you know that it is your birthday 
*A trifling present given in 

to-day ? " she said joyfully, as she smoothed 
his hair and arranged his carelessly tied cravat. 
" And I want you to look very nice, because I 
have a surprise — a real surprise! — for you." 

The artist laid down his tools, removed his 
glass, and arose with dreamy indifference. 
"My birthday, dear child? No, I had not 
thought of it. All days are alike to me, now." 

" You won't say so, Papa, when you see 
what I 've got for you. This is a lovely day, a 
happier day than we 've had for a long time." 

Then she threw open the door impressively, 
and proudly seated her father at the pretty 
table. As he glanced from the flowers to the 
fruit, his face brightened with pleased surprise, 
and he said cheerfully, in a tone that en- 
chanted Dea, " Why, my darling, you have 
indeed surprised me; I little expected such 
a feast." Then his eyes fell on the book, which 
he seized eagerly, and pulling off the wrapper, 
began to devour the contents, glancing greedily 
from the title-page to the illustrations. 

" The Hachette edition, Dea ! — where did 
you get it ? Is it mine — mine to keep?" 

" Yes, Papa, it is yours. Monsieur, the ar- 
tist, gave it to me for keeping so quiet when I 
sat for him, and I give it to you. It is a birth- 
day present from me." 

" You are a good child, Dea," he said, his 
eyes fixed on one of the illustrations. " Ah ! — 
this is excellent ; this will make a fine group ! " 

" But, Papa dear, look at the other things. 
Philip's mammy sent you the flowers, Seline 
made the cake for you, and madam gave me 
the strawberries. Are n't they all lovely?" 

The artist's eyes wandered slowly over the 
table. " Yes, my dear, they are beautiful, and 
your friends are very good to us; but the 
book — the Hachette — it is the best of all." 

During the dinner, Dea tried by every art to 
attract her father's attention from his book. 
He ate slowly of the good things set before him, 
with his eyes fixed on the fascinating pages. 
He was happy in his own way, and the child 
was satisfied, for she said in confidence to Su- 
sette when the feast was over : 

" Dear papa, how happy he was ! He en- 
joyed his birthday dinner so much. He ate 
everything I helped him to — strawberries and 
New Orleans to every buyer. 

«8 9 3.] 



cake, and everything. And fancy, Susette, he 
was looking at his book all the time ; but the 
best part of all was the surprise. Oh, Susette, 
he was so surprised ! " 

Chapter XIII. 


HE next morning after 
Dea's birthday din- 
ner, Philip sat on the 
gallery amusing him- 
self with Pere Josef's 
pets. It was quite 
early, and Toinette, 
who was within, at- 
tending to her house- 
hold duties, thought the boy was studying. 
His books and slate lay on the table near 
the cage, but he was not looking at them; 
he could not get interested in his lessons with 
such merry little rogues scurrying to and fro 
before him. 

" I must n't let them forget what Pere Josef 
taught them," reasoned Philip. " It would be 
too bad if they could n't do their drill when 
he comes home. I must make them practise a 
little every morning." Therefore he was putting 
them through their exercises with quite an easy 

The air was sweet and cool; the sun was 
just peeping over the pittosporums, which 
were white with blossoms ; the dew lay in 
sparkling drops on the stars of the jasmine, and 
every little blade of grass was diamond-tipped ; 
the spiders' webs, stretched across the rose- 
bushes, looked like spun glass as they waved 
daintily in the soft wind. Philip's bowl of 
hominy and milk stood beside him ; the Major 
and the Singer had come to share it. He 
cared no more for his food than he did for 
his books; he was intensely interested by the 
indications of a serious misunderstanding be- 
tween his pets. 

The birds seemed jealous of Pere Josef's 
" children," and fluttered and pecked viciously 
at the cage, whose tiny occupants scurried from 
side to side in order to get out of the reach of 
their unfriendly bills. At last, with a funny 
little show of braverv, the mice drew them- 

selves up in battle array, and presented a bold 
front to the enemy. 

This so amused Philip that he burst into a 
hearty peal of laughter, which brought Toinette 
to the gallery, interested, in spite of herself. 
"Oh, Mammy," he cried, "just watch them 
for a minute ! The Major and the Singer are 

"And the 'children' are frightened," said Toi- 
nette. " See them flutter and tremble, in spite 
of their brave appearance." As she spoke, she 
took a handful of grain from a box, and scat- 
tered it on the grass for the unfriendly birds. 
" Go and eat," she said, " and don't make the 
poor little things unhappy." 

The " children " stood up gravely watching 
the motions of the birds, who gave a last threat- 
ening peck before they disappeared. When 
they were finally gone, the little sprites began 
to dance merrily : they imagined they had 
routed the enemy and come off victoriously. 

" They 're very lively," said Philip, looking 
at them admiringly. " I don't believe they 
miss Pere Josef." 

" No, I don't think they do," returned Toi- 
nette, a little sadly. " It 's the way with al- 
most everything in this world — out of sight, 
out of mind," and she sighed as she dropped 
into her old rocking-chair and leaned her head 
against the faded cushion. " I often think, 
my dear, that if I went away you 'd forget me 
just as soon." 

" You 're not going away, Mammy," replied 
Philip, cheerfully; "but if you did, I should n't 
forget you ; I could n't if I tried." 

Toinette smiled patiently. " You would n't 
mean to, cherj but, after a while, before you 
knew it, your old mammy would be gone out 
of your mind. Some one else would take her 
place. I often 'study about these strangers from 
the North. They 're a great deal to you al- 
ready. I don't blame you, my child. They 're 
very good to you. The artist teaches you. 
Sometimes I think they may want to take you 
away from me. Would you go, Philip? " 

There was just a touch of jealousy in the old 
woman's patient voice, and her thin, dark face 
was full of anxiety as she waited for the boy's 

It came directly, clear and truthful. " No, 



Mammy, of course I would n't. I would n't 
leave you for any one. I 'm happy here with 
my birds and flowers, and Pere Josef's 'chil- 
dren.' I could n't like any other place, and I 
could n't love any one as I love you, Mammy." 

Toinette's dim eyes brightened with plea- 
sure. " I 'm glad to hear you say that, Philip. 
I 've had you a long time, and I 've tried to 
take good care of you, and to teach you to be 
good. There 's plenty of time for you to learn 
everything. I could n't let you go away ; I 
could n't give you up just yet, but I 'm old — 
old, and perhaps — Well, eat your breakfast, 
child, and try to study awhile before you go to 
the studio." 

When Philip left Toinette with an affection- 
ate adieu, he did not know how soon again his 
loyalty would be put to the test. Mr. Ains- 
worth and his wife were talking very seriously 
when he entered the studio with a bright face 
and a cheerful good morning. 

" Come here, my dear," said Mrs. Ainsworth, 
drawing him gently down beside her, while she 
encircled him with her arm. " We want to talk 
to you. We are thinking of going away soon, 
and we find it hard to leave you, my dear 
child. Would you like to go with us ? " 

Philip's cheeks flushed crimson, and his eyes 
filled with tears. " Oh, I don't want you to go ; 
I don't want to lose you ; but I can't go with 

" Why can't you, my dear boy ? We will do 
everything for you. We will make you very 
happy, and you can go on with your drawing," 
said Mr. Ainsworth, persuasively. 

" You can travel, and see other places. We 
will spend the summer in the mountains. You 
can have a pony, and you can go out sketching 
with Mr. Ainsworth," urged Mrs. Ainsworth. 

" I should like to travel ; I should like to see 
the mountains — I never saw any; and I should 
like a pony," replied Philip, looking up bravely, 
while he wiped away his tears; "but I can't 
go. I can't leave mammy, — she 's old, and I 've 
got to stay with her and take care of her." 

" If your mammy should consent ? If she 
should think it best for your future ? If she 
should be willing ? " asked Mrs. Ainsworth. 

" But mammy would n't be willing," replied 
Philip, with conviction. "And then there 's 
Dea ; I 've got to take care of her, and I 've 
got to take care of Pere Josef's 'children.' I 
could n't leave them," he added gravely, as 
the weight of his responsibilities pressed upon 

Mr. Ainsworth looked to his wife for some 
further argument in their favor. They were 
thrilled with admiration for the loyal little fel- 
low, and yet they were bitterly disappointed. 

" But, my dear boy," said Mrs. Ainsworth, 
after a moment's silence, " if it were not for 
your mammy, would you go with us ? Do you 
love us well enough to go with us ? " Her 
hungry heart craved some assurance of the 
boy's love. 

" If it was n't for mammy, yes, I 'd go," he 
replied readily. " I want to learn to paint 
pictures, and I 'd like to see everything, and — 
and — you 're so good to me. I don't want 
you to go away," and again the blue eyes filled 
with tears; " but you see I can't — I can't leave 

" I see you can't, my dear," returned Mrs. 
Ainsworth, soothingly; "you are a good loyal 
boy, and we love you all the better for your 
devotion to your old nurse. There is a great 
deal to be thought of on both sides, but we 
must go on loving you, and you must not for- 
get us, and when we come back next winter 
we want to find you the same dear boy that 
you are now." 

" We are greatly disappointed, Philip," said 
Mr. Ainsworth, regretfully. " We are sorry to 
go without you ; but we shall watch over your 
future, and perhaps when we return we can 
make some arrangement, — perhaps there will 
not be so many obstacles in the way." 

" If mammy and Pere Josef should say I 
could, and that it was best, I might go for a 
little while; but I can't leave mammy now, 
and anyway, I must be here when Pere Josef 
comes back." 

And that was Philip's ultimatum. No further 
arguments nor inducements could influence 
him. There was a serious and secret reason 
why he must wait for Pere Josef's return. 

( To be continued. ) 


By f. O. Davidson. 

IK or Wych was 
name given by 



Norsemen of old to 

those deep and narrow 

inlets which so sharply 

indent the Norwegian 

coast, looking on the 

map as if old ocean had 

notched the rugged 

coast-line with scars of 

battle and storms. 

Twelve hundred years ago Norway's coast 

was peopled by a fierce and warlike race of 

mariners. Their own barren shores afforded 

few of the luxuries of life that they found 

among other people living within a day's sail 
further south, and it is little to be wondered 
at that, with the strength and boldness gained 
by them in their hunting and fishing expedi- 
tions, they should at last find it easier to wage 
war upon their less martial neighbors for the 
plunder to be gained thereby, than to depend 
upon the resources of their own land for a 

As years went by, and the nation continued 
prosperous under such conditions, their belief 
in the divine origin and purpose of war became 
fixed, and at last it became part of their re- 
ligion. Even their heaven grew to be a place 
where warriors could fight and kill one another 






all day long, coming to life again at sundown 
to make merry together at night. 

In their youth the Norsemen were trained 
to be familiar with ship-building, to know the 
ocean tides, currents, and storms, and the hand- 
ling of their ships therein. They were taught 
to throw great spears and to avoid those 
thrown at them by others ; to draw great bows 
and shoot their arrows swiftly and true to the 
mark, and to catch on their shields those shot 
by their enemies. We are told that Einar 
Thambarsk elver, the " Twanger of Thamb,"* 
was powerful enough at eighteen years of age 
to pierce with a blunt arrow a rawhide hanging 
loose in the wind. 

The villages of those born fighters and sea- 
rovers were built at the heads of the narrow 
viks, or harbors, where no enemy could attack 
except in front; and it was a daring foe indeed 
who would venture for war or retaliation into 
the dens of those sea-wolves. 

Soon the dwellers in these settlements became 
known as " vikings," meaning almost literally 
"inlet-men," and were considered pirates; but 
piracy in those days was almost universal 
throughout the world, and the vikings were no 
worse than the sea-rovers of Greece, Rome, 
Spain, or Africa. 

The ships of the vikings were marvels of 
strength, lightness, and speed. Their absolute 
length-measurement has not been handed down 
to us; but the historians of those days mention 
crews of a hundred and twenty rowers, so that, 
with their officers and chief's attendants, the 
crew must have numbered hundreds. 

" Long Serpent," " Short Serpent," " The 
Dragon," were some of the names given their 
famous war-ships. Carved heads of dragons 
and serpents surmounted the bows and sterns, 
rows of shields painted black and yellow were 
ranged along the sides, gold and silver orna- 
ments gleamed upon rail and decks, and the 
painted sails and many-colored flags and 
streamers gave them an exceedingly gay and 
warlike appearance as they swept in fleets 
through the narrow viks and tore up the dark- 
green t waters off the coast with their powerful 

And the viking ships sometimes made long 

voyages, for we read that King Hakon sent his 
daughter Christina to Spain to be married to 
the Spanish king. 

The mystery of the viking ships is now 
passing away, owing to the discovery of their 
remains during this century. In 1867 a good- 
sized ship was discovered near Sarpsborg, while 
in 1882 there was dug out of a burial-mound 
at Gokstad, near Christiania, the entire remains 
of a viking ship with most of her equipments in 
a good state of preservation. She was 78 feet 
long, i6*4 feet wide, and built entirely of oak. 
The prow and stern were richly decorated and 
handsomely carved. She had ports for sixteen 
oars on a side, many of which remained in 
good order, as the warriors' shields were also 
well preserved. Among the articles found were 
candlesticks, a copper caldron, a sled, a fine 
bridle, and the anchor and stock with its long 
cable. There were also extra masts and spars, 
the ship's water-tub, and an oaken bedstead for 
the use of the viking commander. 

The ship was evidently the burial-tomb of 
its great captain, for the bones of his horses 
and dogs lay beside it ; and, strangest thing of 
all to relate, the bones of the viking himself, a 
man of giant size, six feet three and a half 
inches tall, were found in a covered place 
amidships. There was nothing to show, how- 
ever, whether the great chief died in battle 
defending his own fireside, or whether, wounded 
in one of his own terrible forays, he had been 
brought home for burial ; but certain it is that 
for one thousand years he had lain there with 
his favorite war-horses and hunting-dogs be- 
side his good ship, whose prow, turned toward 
the sea, was ready at Odin's trumpet-call to 
launch forth once more to other deeds of valor 
and glory. 

Nine centuries ago Lief Erickson, or " Lief 
the Lucky," found his way, it is claimed, to the 
shores of America in one of the sea-skimming 
dragons, and skirted along our New England 
coast long before Columbus crossed the At- 
lantic in his caravels ; and the stone tower at 
Newport, the age of which no one seems to 
know, is thought by many to have been built 
by the viking's crew. 

Prominent Norwegians interested in the de- 

' Thamb " was the name of his bow. 

t The ocean off Norway is dark green instead of blue. 

i8 93 -] 



bate as to whether Erickson really did make 
this voyage, have patriotically contributed 
money to have a ship built in all respects 
similar to the one found at Gokstad. She is 
sent across the ocean on a visit to America 
and the World's Fair as part of Norway's ex- 
hibit. She is 77 feet long and 16 feet wide. 
Her rudder is on the starboard or "steerboard " 
side, and she flies the ancient and dreaded 
red flag and raven of the pirates of old. She 
has thirty oars, worked by relays of rowers 
from a crew of eighty picked Norwegian sail- 
ors, who brought her over the sea with sail and 
oar just as their forefathers came so long ago, 
amid icebergs and storms. 

There is one difference, however ; for instead 
of landing on a rock-bound coast inhabited by 

savage Indians, they are welcomed by a new 
nation, great and free, in whose harbors is 
many an iron war-ship greater and more ter- 
rible than the viking ever dreamt of. But these 
men-of-war did not meet to destroy one another 
in battle, but for the purpose of celebrating the 
coming of that other great sea-rover and dis- 
coverer, Columbus. 

When the Palisades of the Hudson looked 
down upon the seemingly antique caravels, 
themselves modern in pattern as compared with 
this viking ship, perhaps the old rocks sleepily 
wondered at the absence of the good ship " Half 
Moon" — the craft of their friend Hendrik 
Hudson ; for to them it may have seemed 
that a model of his Dutch vessel might have 
claimed a place in the honored procession. 




By John Kendrick Bangs. 

There is a man in our town 
Who is so wondrous wise, 

He knows he cannot sing at all, 
And so he never tries. 

He also knows he has no wit, 
Like many funny folks, 

And so he never bothers me 
By getting off his jokes. 

And when he has no word to say, 
He 's wise enough, though young, 

To sit about while others talk, 
And hold his little tongue. 


By Gertrude Halliday. 


A little Swiss lady whose name was Jeanne, 

Lived close to the Swiss frontier ; 

While over in France, across the way, 
Lived her little French neighbor, Madame 

Her friend of many a year. 

And every spring, by a long-tried plan, 
Whose value you '11 see at a glance, 

They made of their houses a fair exchange ; But you '11 find her over the way.' 


For said Jeanne, " One is better for travel 
and change, 
So I spend my summers in France." 

And when any one called at her new house 

And asked for Madame Aimee, 

She said, " I am sorry she 's not at hand; 

She 's gone for the summer to Switzerland, 


^Jbeo My ^ ! P C ®me s f f 

By Mary J. Farrah, LL. A. 

Uncle often tells us stories 
Of a ship he has at sea, 
And the wonders and the glories, 

If we 're good, for Tom and me; 
And I dream that somewhere sailing 

Is a gallant bark of mine, 
With the soft wind never failing, 
And the weather always fine. 

Oh! the bells will all be ringing 

With a merry, tuneful din, 
The birds will all be singing, 
When my ship comes in ! 

She is bringing gifts for Mother, 
And for Father and the boys, 

And my little baby brother 

Shall be smothered deep in toys; 

Her hold is full of treasure 
From the islands of the Main, 

And her fairy crew at leisure 
Are sailing home again. 

Oh! the pleasure past all rhyming, 

And the joy that will begin, 
When all the bells are chiming, 
And my ship comes in ! 

There are storms and sudden dangers 

Hiding cruelly around, 
Where just such ocean rangers 
As my fairy bark are found. 
Blow, breath of heaven, behind her, 

And guide her safely home, 

And some day I shall find her — 

My ship from o'er the foam ! 

Oh! the birds will all be singing 

When her crew the haven win; 
The bells will all be ringing 
When my ship comes in ! 


By Hon. Isaac Townsend Smith, 
Consul'Getterul for Siam. 

His Royal Highness Somditch Phra Oro 
sad hiruj Chowfa Maha Vajirunhis, heir to the 
throne of Siam, was born in 1877. He is a 
very bright and interesting boy. The King takes 
great pains with his education, so that he may 
well fill the high position he is to occupy. His 
Majesty is very fond of his children, and on 
public occasions is frequently seen accompanied 
by the Crown-Prince and others of the little 

By ancient custom in Siam, a lock of hair 
of every young child is allowed to grow long 
on the top of the head, and is kept coiled up. 
The wealthy often fasten it with jeweled pins, 
and the head is adorned by circlets of white 
flowers, projecting above which is seen the little 
jet-black topknot of hair. 

When girls reach the age of about eleven, and 
boys are from twelve to fourteen years old, this 
topknot is cut off, and afterward the hair is 
worn short by both men and women. 

The cutting off of this topknot is the occa- 
sion of a joyous festival, and is made an inter- 
esting era in child-life. 

In January, 1891, there was observed at 
Bangkok a very interesting old Siamese cus- 
tom called the " Sokan," or hair-cutting cere- 
mony, celebrated in honor of the Crown-Prince. 
It was attended with some very novel perform- 

Propitious days are sought for, and priests 
are invited to assist, to invoke blessings upon 
the children, and to avert misfortunes and evils. 

Relatives and friends assemble and make 
valuable and useful presents, which are kept 
until the time comes for the children to take 
the responsibilities of life upon themselves. 
No one is specially invited, but it is regarded 
as a mark of respect and good will to be pres- 
ent and make some gift as a pleasant souvenir 
of the occasion. 

When the time came for his Royal Highness 

the Crown-Prince to lay aside the ways of 
childhood and become as a little man, and, in 
sign of this dignity, to have his topknot cut off, 
there was a great stir among all classes through- 
out the kingdom, and extensive preparations 
were made to celebrate the event at the Royal 

The palace and edifices within the extensive 
walled inclosure are of Siamese architecture, 
which has distinct features, and differs from 
both Chinese and Japanese styles. Noticeable 
are the peculiar triple roofs covered with col- 
ored tiles, and decorated with golden spurs at 
the roof-points. Graceful spires, white stone, 
colored marbles, and gilded elephants at the 
palace entrance, make an attractive and bril- 
liant picture, especially at night, when they are 
illuminated with colored lanterns and electric 
jets. In producing effects by means of light, 
shade, and color, the Siamese are very skilful, 
and show excellent taste. 

On this occasion an artificial mountain orna- 
mented with silver and gold, about a hundred 
feet high, was so constructed that it could be 
ascended by winding steps to the summit. It 
was adorned with little trees, flowers, animals, 
and other novel decorations, representing in 
miniature the four quarters of the globe. 

In a grotto in this mountain the Prince 
went to bathe before his topknot was cut off. 
Brahminical religious services were held; the 
water was consecrated. Then, at the auspicious 
moment, as ascertained by the astrologers and 
Brahmins, the great and important wax taper 
was lighted, parched and unparched corn was 
scattered, and banners waved to receive the 
Prince. His Majesty the King, elegantly dressed 
and wearing his highest decoration. — that of the 
White Elephant, — was present, and directed 
the proceedings. 

The consecrated water was poured upon the 
Prince from the royal conch-shell and bowls 




by the King, Queen, and princes. During the 
bathing, he was screened by curtains from gen- 
eral observation, and when his garments were 


changed he was adorned with a gauze shoulder 
cloth and a large chain of gems. The King, 
leading him by the hand, then descended to 
the base of the mountain. 

The ceremonies were continued for six days. 
The first day was devoted to religious obser- 
vances that were attended mostly by Siamese 
and official persons. 
Upon the second and 
following days there 
were grand proces- 

On these occasions 
all Siamese of rank, 
the foreign legations, 
and various officials 
were present. 

In the grand square 
not far from the en- 
trance to the palace, 
and opposite the gold 
and silver mountain, 
a canopied structure 
was built near to the 
throne for the occa- 
sion. This was oc- 
cupied by the foreign 
ministers, consuls, and 
guests of the Govern- 

Here also were seat- 
ed the princes, the 
governors of provinces, 
the judges, and two 
hundred or more rajahs 
and nobles who had 
come from different 
parts of the kingdom 
to be present at the 
ceremony. They were 
attired in rich court- 
dresses of cloth of gold, 
with decorations, jew- 
els, and laces, which, 
with their bronzed 
faces and jet-black 
hair, made a very pic- 
turesque and striking 
group. Some had 
strong, expressive 

faces, but none were so attractive as his Maj- 
esty, especially when seated upon his throne 
and adorned with his grand crown. 

The King is of distinguished bearing. His 

i8 93 .] 



countenance is expressive of benignity and in- bare, and they carried their small hands with 
telligence. It is a face that, because of its fine palms touching and fingers pointed outward 
Oriental type, would 
attract attention on any 

The procession was 
most imposing; indeed, 
words can hardly con- 
vey a proper impression 
of its picturesqueness. 
The king's body-guard, 
with the royal standard 
and a band of foreign 
instruments, led the 
advance. Next fol- 
lowed a line of infantry 
and lictors bearing their 
ratans, which they ap- 
plied freely to the backs 
of the unfortunate na- 
tives who blocked the 
way. Then came the 
chiefs, wearing sabers 
by their sides and lead- 
ing lines of palace 
pages, who were dress- 
ed in gorgeous robes. 

Then in companies 
came six thousand 
young men and wo- 
men, the flower of the 
kingdom, representing 
various nationalities 
within the dominions 
— Siamese, Cochin- 
Chinese, Burmans, La- 
otians, Malays, Cam- 
bodians, and others. 

First in line were a 
thousand Siamese girls 
from fourteen to eigh- 
teen years old, who 
marched together, hav- 
ing the place of honor 
heading the column. 
They wore white bod- 
ices, purple patoons, or 
loose trousers, and yel- 
low scarfs over one shoulder and knotted at the breast high, the Siamese mode of salutation, 
waist. One shoulder, the arms, and feet were Straight as arrows, they moved gracefully and 
Vol. XX.— 48. 





modestly, and surely made a very pretty sight. 
They were escorted by a body-guard of Ama- 
zons in dark blue uniforms trimmed with red, 
a rear-guard of the same following. Then were 
heard the most thrilling, ear-splitting sounds in 
the distance. These strains from the native 
Malay band heralded the coming of the Crown- 
Prince, who shortly after appeared seated in his 
gilded and lacquered palanquin, with the great 
golden umbrella, large fans, and other para- 
phernalia. He was escorted by a body-guard 
of nobles in embroidered apparel and lace 
cloaks, like those already spoken of. Every 
one arose, as all had done when the King 
passed, and respectfully saluted the young 
Prince by bowing. The greetings were cour- 
teously returned by a wave of his hand. 

Companies of Malays, Burmans, Cochin-Chi- 
nese, and other races followed, wearing their 
native picturesque costumes. The population 
of Siam comprises these various types, and 
gives a good idea of the various Oriental races. 

Indeed the procession was a sight such as 
could be seen in no other land, and was most 

A battalion of the regular army of Siam, in 
white uniforms, with their fine military band, 
was also in line, and the men presented a sol- 
dierly appearance. 

The band-master formerly held a similar 
position in a United States frigate that vis- 
ited Siam a few years ago, but, being invited 
to join the King's service, he was permitted to 
leave the ship and accept the appointment. 
He has taught the Siamese to play upon the 
various foreign musical instruments, and the 
King has now a fine regimental band, as well 
as several bands of native performers, making 
a pleasing variety of music. 

Dancing by girls in pretty costumes, and by 
young men, with peculiar slow graceful move- 
ments, was part of the entertainment provided. 

The Siamese as a people are gentle of voice 
and manner, avoiding anything that may lead 
to expressions of anger. To one accustomed 
to witness the push, bustle, and tumult on 
similar occasions in the large capitals of Eu- 
rope and America, the quiet order and decorum 
of the Siamese was most agreeable and im- 
pressive. Every one present seemed to be 

swayed only by a wish to make the festivities 
a success. No one seemed to enjoy it more 
than the King : it honored the Prince and 
pleased the people. Whenever the King arose 
from his seat every one stood and remained 
standing until he was again seated ; and when 
his Majesty, taking the arm of the Crown- 
Prince, had assisted him from his palanquin to 
the throne, upon a signal upon a native instru- 
ment the whole assembly bowed three times. 

The natives in attendance for marching or 
dancing were hospitably entertained by his 
Majesty, who gave to each one, it was reported, 
a ticall in silver (a coin equal to sixty cents) 
for each day of their attendance ; so that 
quite a considerable sum was scattered among 
the people. His Majesty is liberal and hos- 
pitable on such occasions. 

During the festivities a superb banquet was 
given by the King, and several hundreds of 
royal princes, nobles, foreign ministers, and 
guests sat at the feast, which was followed by 
a reception by the King and the Crown-Prince. 

There was a splendid ball and banquet in 
honor of the Crown-Prince by his Royal 
Highness the youngest brother of the King. 
It was very grand, and was honored by the 
presence of the King and the Crown-Prince. 

The education of the Crown-Prince has been 
well conducted. 

The autograph letter from him reproduced 
on the next page shows his courtesy, and his 
creditable proficiency in English. 

The photographs of the Prince, taken one 
before the hair-cutting ceremony, and the other 
a year or two later, are excellent likenesses. 

The elephant is the national emblem of 
Siam. It is a more agreeable representative 
emblem for a state than are the rapacious 
birds, venomous reptiles, and ferocious wild 
beasts, often the enemies of mankind, which 
have been adopted by some other nations. 


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(.•; Fable.) 

By Peter Newell. 

A Racoon and a Rabbit were crossing a 
river together in an old tub. When about 
midway between the two shores, they discov- 
ered that their boat was leaking badly. They 
had nothing with them with which to bail out 
the water, and neither of them could swim, so 
you may be sure they were badly frightened. 
At length the Rabbit hit upon a plan which 
he thought might save them. 

" Let us," said he to his companion, " fall to 
drinking the water in our boat, and perhaps in 

this way we may so reduce it that we shall be 
able to reach the other shore in safety." 

The Racoon readily agreed to this plan, and 
both animals set to drinking with a will. But 
though they were able to reduce the quantity 
of water in the tub, it continued to settle, and 
presently went down with the two unfortunate 

From this sad tale we may learn the whole- 
some lesson that shifting a responsibility is not 
ridding one's self of it. 


Dorothy Deems, in 

her dove-colored hat. 
On a sweet, sunshiny day 
Taking her grandmama's coal- 
colored cat, 
Started to run away : 
Dorothy Deems 
Had been — so it seems 
Abused and misused in a terrible way ! 


A tall turkey-gobbler, with con- 
fident pace, 
Flapping his wings in the air, 
Fell in with Dorothy Deems 
face to face — 
But . . . Dorothy was n't there ! 
Dorothy Deems, 
To judge by her screams, 
Regretted exceedingly this whole affair. 


Dorothy fled with the coal-colored cat, 

In an undignified way : 
Trotted off, trailing the dove-colored hat; 
Reached home in tears. But they say 
Dorothy Deems, 
In her wildest dreams, 
Will never again think of running away. 

Nell K. McElhone. 


By Theodore Ackerman. 

On board the good ship " Vincennes," dur- 
ing a cruise in the Pacific Ocean, a party of 
English and American officers were one day in 
the cabin talking cheerfully of the Cape and the 
cruise, when, as if by magic, every countenance 
changed. Spellbound for an instant, all sat 
intently listening. There was a strange com- 
motion in the ship. Then came that noise of 
hurrying feet, unaccompanied by the voice of 

in which were caught the ominously coupled 
words: "Shark! — Boy!" In a moment all 
were on deck. Glancing over the side rail, we 
saw in a row-boat moored to the end of the 
side boom, a few feet from the side, one of the 
ship's boys, a bright, cheerful little fellow, stand- 
ing erect, holding a boat-hook ready to strike. 
Gliding slowly toward him, scarcely rippling 
the surface of the water, through which its broad 


command, which, breaking the silence of a well- back could be plainly seen, was a great white 

disciplined man-of-war, and echoing below, in- shark — a "man-eater": such as in former days 

spires a creeping fear of unknown evil. There followed in the wakes of captured slavers, 

were, too, half-suppressed exclamations of alarm, prizes to her Majesty's cruisers on the coast. 




The crew of the Vincennes stood aghast, 
powerless to aid. Some called to the boy to lie 
down in the boat ; others shouted to him to 
pull away. But, wholly intent on the movements 
of the fearful creature, he did not hear them. 
We had not long to wait ; the shark came on, 
raising its head out of the water, so that its 
sinister eyes could be seen. Pressing heavily 
on the wale of the boat, it bore down the side. 

We expected to see the boat roll over upon 
the shark, and held our breath. Down came the 
iron-pointed boat-hook with all the force a boy- 
ish arm could give it. A blow, and then a quick 
thrust, and the light boat, buoyant as a feather, 
slipped out from under the shark's head and 
righted herself. 

ladder, and, springing up, climbed to the boom, 
along which he tripped lightly to the ship. 

Under his little blue jacket beat a man's 
heart — as, indeed, all knew before, for once it 
chanced that at Madeira some people came on 
board, in time of famine, asking alms. Among 
those who contributed was this boy, and so 
liberally, and with such a matter-of-course air, 
that a jovial seaman called out, " Hallo ! old 
man, what are you about ?" " Jack," said the 
boy, looking back over his shoulder, as he 
walked away, " I know what it is to be poor." 

But to return to the shark. Reluctant to give 
up its expected prey, it was gliding round the 
now empty boat, flashes of a pale greenish light 
playing around the dark mouth working in 


It was a gallant sight, to see that sailor boy 
standing undaunted before what might indeed 
be called the jaws of death. Rapidly and well 
did he ply his weapon. The shark, baffled, 
drew back as if to take measure of the brave 
little fellow, preparatory to a. final rush which 
should seal the boy's fate. In that perilous 
instant, cool and collected, seizing the painter 
with one hand while he pointed the boat-hook 
with the other, to ward off the shark's attack, 
the boy quickly drew the boat under the rope- 

fretful impatience. Sinking, it reappeared be- 
neath the boat, and putting its nose under the 
stern, tossed her up in the air. This was done 
several times ; then, coming close to the side 
of the ship, abreast the gangway, it placed 
itself upright in the water, looking up, and 
mouthing the copper. Again turning away, it 
swam restlessly about. During this interval, 
however, brief as it was, a boat had been 
manned on the other side of the ship, and now 
appeared swiftly rounding the stern under the 

i8 9 3.] 



impulse of six bending oars. It was headed for 
die shark. In her bow a brawny seaman, with 
bared arm, poised his harpoon. When within 
striking distance, he drove the weapon with so 
true an aim and such force that it buried itself 
to the wood. With a twirl that made the water 
boil, the shark darted away, the boat surging in 
its wake, and fairly leaping at every sweep of 
its broad tail. Round and round they went as 
the shark vainly struggled to free itself from 
the barbed iron; at length, passing under the 

bow of the ship, between the chain-cable and 
the stem, a space too narrow for the boat to 
follow, it jammed her there, tightened the rope, 
and with one tremendous effort broke away. 
The disappointed crew hauled in the line, to find 
the iron shaft of the harpoon bent nearly 
double by the fish's struggles. They saw the 
shark no more. 

So tenacious of life are these ferocious crea- 
tures, however, that this one may have recovered 
from the wound, severe though it was. 


By Lida Rose McCabe. 

A glazed cap pulled down over a chubby, 
stolid face, a compact little body clad in blue 
jean blouse and very voluminous trousers, 
hands stained with chemicals, and thrust into 
pockets when not filled with newspapers — 
there was no confounding young Edison with 
a mollycoddle. His father tells us that he 
"never had any boyhood days; his earliest 
amusements were steam-engines and mechan- 
ical forces." 

In Milan, on the banks of the Huron River, 
where he passed the first seven years of his life, 
he seems to have joined in the boys' games; 
but soon marbles, ball, and hop-scotch were left 
to less ingenious urchins, while young Edison 
constructed plank roads or dug tunnels and 
caves along the shore. 

Canal-boats plied upon the river. The boy 
learned to imitate the boatmen's refrain, and 
before his fifth year was amusing the villagers 
by his clever songs. 

His interest in tunneling was rivaled by his 
love for chickens. Astonished at the results of 
a goose sitting on a nest of eggs, the inventor 
thought to increase the broods by a device 
of his own. One day the boy was missed from 
his usual haunts. Messengers were sent in 
search of him and found him curled up in a 

nest he had made in the barn. It was filled 
with goose and hen eggs, upon which he was 
sitting, trying to hatch them ! 

There was one phase of Milan child-life 
in^hich Edison, happily or unhappily, hardly 
shared. He was not one of- those who daily 
trudged with satchel and books to the white- 
washed school-house. Indeed, Edison went to 
school for only two months. In her youth his 
mother had been a teacher in the Canadian 
High School. She taught her son at home, 
impressing him with the love and purpose 
of study. Like many of the world's greatest 
men, Edison owes much of his fame to his 
mother, to whom he was a devoted son. Read- 
ing was his delight. His father, to encourage 
him in the habit, paid him for every volume 
he finished. At the age of seven, the family 
removed from Milan to Port Huron, where 
Edison, on the shores of Lake Erie, continued 
to build roads and dig tunnels, during the same 
time pursuing his studies at home with the 
industry and concentration that continue to 
dominate his life. 

With Hume's "History of England," D'Au- 
bigne's " History of the Reformation," Gibbon's 
" Rome," Sears's " History of the World," the 
" Penny Encyclopaedia," and various scientific 




works, he had well stored his mind before he 
began as a train-boy to carry a basket of figs, 
apples, toys, periodicals, and newspapers. In 
the ups and downs of this rugged calling Edi- 
son found his university education. He always 
refers to this period with a humorous gleam in 
his searching eyes. 

His " run " was from Port Huron to Detroit. 
Night, however, always found him in the shel- 
ter of his father's home — a large old-fashioned 
frame building surrounded by a grove, and 
with an observatory that commanded a glorious 
outlook over the broad river and distant hills. 

Business increased rapidly, and soon the boy 
had to employ four assistants. 

At this period, Edison's inventive genius first 
asserted itself. The war had just begun. News 
was eagerly awaited. It was this dull-looking 
newsboy who hit upon the novel idea of tele- 
graphing, in advance of his train, the head-lines 
of the war-news columns, which were promptly 
bulletined at the stations. When the train ar- 
rived his papers sold with electric speed. 

His stock in trade was purchased principally 
at the Detroit end of the line, where his repu- 
tation as an " honest boy " who did a " cash 
business" was soon established. Between trains, 
he was often to be found in the Detroit library, 
where he undertook to read every volume on 
the shelves. Beginning at the bottom shelf, 
he read a line of books fifteen feet long, when 
he abandoned the task to dip into poetry and 
fiction, finding great pleasure in Victor Hugo's 
" Les Miserables" and "The Toilers of the 
Sea " — books which are still favorites. 

Gifted with a remarkably retentive memory, 
Edison has always been able to quote exten- 
sively from his vast fields of research, and is 
still able to refer without difficulty to the great 
store of information at his command, when re- 
quired in his manifold experiments. 

Had Edison been a less energetic boy, he 
might have remained to this day a vender of 
news. But scarcely had he reached his fif- 
teenth year when he resolved to edit and pub- 
lish a paper of his own. For this purpose he 
purchased three hundred pounds of old type 
from the Detroit Free Press whose compos- 
ing-room was one of his favorite resorts when 
off duty. 

Attached to his train there was a springless 
freight-car with a room set apart for smoking. 
Owing to the bad ventilation, passengers rarely 
entered this compartment. Here the newsboy 
deposited his type and set about the publica- 
tion of The Grand Trunk Herald. It was 
a twelve- by sixteen- inch sheet, printed by the 
pressure of the hand and on one side only. 
The Herald was issued weekly and sold for 
three cents a copy or eight cents a month, and 
reached a circulation of several hundreds. The 
columns, as is shown in the illustrations, were 
devoted to railway gossip, changes, accidents, 
market-reports, and general information. Rail- 
road men of prominence were among its con- 
tributors, and it became celebrated as the only 
newspaper in the world printed in a railway 
train. The journalistic ambition of the young 
editor was satisfied when the Herald attained 
editorial mention in the London Times. 

Not content with his success as editor, pub- 
lisher, and train-boy, Edison now purchased 
on the instalment plan a supply of chemicals, 
and having secured in the railroad shops some 
old retorts in exchange for papers, he fitted 
up in the Herald office a chemical labora- 
tory. Rich in Fresenius's " Qualitative Analy- 
sis," which he had thoroughly studied, and the 
materials now at hand, he stood on the thresh- 
old of a new world, with the dawning conscious- 
ness of the message nature's untried forces had 
in store for him. Alas, an extra jolt of the 
springless car one day played havoc with the 
rudely constructed laboratory ! In the wreck 
was a bottle of phosphorus from which the 
water had evaporated. The phosphorus ig- 
nited and set fire to the car, and, before he 
could say Jack Robinson, the hapless young 
chemist, editor, and vender was soundly cuffed 
by the infuriated conductor and thrown bodily 
from the blazing train ! 

Recalling the incident, years afterward, Edi- 
son in the laboratory at Menlo Park gave so 
practical an illustration of the catastrophe that 
an explosion ensued, filling the place with sti- 
fling fumes and creating a stampede among 
some distinguished scientists assembled in a 
room above the laboratory. Through the blind- 
ing vapor they descended, excitedly demanding 
an explanation. 

"893 1 



" Oh ! " said Edison, amused at their panic, 
" I was only showing the gentlemen how that 
explosion occurred on the Grand Trunk Line." 

The destruction of the boy's railroad labora- 
tory transferred his operations to the basement 
of his father's house in Port Huron. In order 
that his chemicals should not be disturbed, he 
labeled every bottle " Poison." 

At this time he made his second venture into 
the journalistic field by the publication of a 
newspaper called Paul Pry. It was a more 
ambitious publication than the Herald, and 
had a host of contributors and a large sub- 
scription-list. Its fate, however, was scarcely 
less disastrous than that of its predecessor. A 
contributed article gave offense to a subscriber, 
who, meeting the editor-in-chief on the banks 
of the St. Clair, deliberately pitched him into 
the river. 

His success in telegraphing the war-column 
early impressed young Edison with the power 
of telegraphy. His curiosity on that subject 
was thenceforth insatiable. He read every- 
thing on electricity that he could get ; he be- 
sieged the telegraph offices and the railroad 
shops along the line, and was the terror of the 
engineers; and he never failed to beg for a 
ride on the engine, where he frequently made 
mischief by trying to solve for himself the why 
and wherefore of the steam-horse's construction. 

In the telegraph offices he could see the 
cup with its copper, zinc, and acid, and hear 
the click of the sounder ; but whence came the 
magical power ? Determined to find out for 
himself, he constructed a short line from his 
laboratory to the residence of his young assis- 
tant and chum, James Ward. ' Common stove- 
pipe wire, insulated with bottles placed on nails 
driven into trees (and carried under an exposed 
road by means of a piece of abandoned cable 
fished up from the Detroit Riverj, was the equip- 
ment used. The youngster had seen sparks 
emitted from a cat's back. Judging that there 
must be a good battery where the indications 
were so strong, he inserted a cat in the circuit, 
using the fore and hind feet as electrodes. 

The connection made, he tried to start the 
electric current by rubbing the cat's back. 
Despite the animal's telephonic resentment of 
the liberty taken, the experiment was not with- 

out success. A tremendous local current and 
perfect electric arc were produced, attended 
by considerable disturbance; but as the battery 
would not work, the line was soon abandoned. 

His second venture in practical telegraphy 
was the turning-point of his life. The story is 
told as it was related to the writer by Mr. J. TJ. 
Mackenzie, who during the early sixties was the 
station-agent and operator at Mount Clemens, 

As a newsboy Edison's run took him twice 
a week through Mount Clemens on the train 
known as the " mixed " division. This train 
reached that station between 10 and 11 a. jw., 
and returned to Port Huron between 4 and 
5 p. m. Young Edison was popular with the 
railroad men, whom he delighted to enter- 


tain in his train laboratory with chemical exper- 
iments, and had made a stanch friend of the 
Mount Clemens operator. Mr. Mackenzie and 
his wife and family lived over the station. 

It was a summer day. The "mixed" ar- 
rived in good time, and the train was cut loose 




ahead of the baggage-car in order to pick up 
'a car of freight on its way to Jackson. This 
left the passenger- and baggage-car at the north 
end of the station platform. The engine and 
freieht-cars backed in on the freight-house track 

escaped without injury. The act was heroic, 
and our gratitude was unbounded. I was just 
then unable, however, to substantially reward 
the young hero. Then I remembered his ab- 
sorbing interest in telegraphy. Many a time I 

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and pulled out the car on to the main track, 
without a brakeman, giving it a gentle push to- 
ward the baggage-car. The track was very 

" My son, then two and a half years old," said 
Mr. Mackenzie, "unobserved by his nurse, had 
strayed upon the main track and was amusing 
himself throwing pebbles, when Edison, who 
stood near with papers under his arm, turned 
and saw the child's danger. Throwing aside 
his papers, he plunged between the cars just in 
time to drag himself and the child clear of the 
approaching cars. Excepting scratches, both 

had driven him from the office, for his curiosity 
led him into all sorts of mischief, to my annoy- 
ance. 'Al,' I said, ' stop at Mount Clemens from 
1 1 a. M. until 4 p. m. several days each week, 
and I will perfect you as an operator and get you 
a position.' The offer was eagerly accepted. 

" Edison soon had erected a line from the sta- 
tion tank to my brother-in-law's sleeping-room 
over the station. The instruments used were 
made by Edison's own hands at a gun-shop 
in Detroit. In construction and operation they 
were perfect. Subsequently the boy put up a 
perfectly equipped working line from the sta- 




tion to the village drug-store — a distance of 
one mile. It worked very well in the fine, 
dry weather during which it was built, but 
the first rainy day rendered it useless. It could 
hardly have been otherwise, for nine-tenths 
of the line was fastened with mere penny nails 
to the cedar of a snake-stake. There were no 
insulators of any kind, and the line was what 
is known as stove-pipe annealed wire. Except- 
ing two paid messages sent over this line, the 
whole was a financial failure. 

" One day while the line was in operation Al 

the ' duplex ' was contested, I recalled to him 
the incident. 

" ' Had I had your evidence, Mackenzie,' 
said the inventor in reply, 'it would have saved 
me $300,000.' " 

In three months the pupil excelled the mas- 
ter, who had no hesitation in recommending 
him to the telegraph superintendent. Edison 
became night operator at Stratford, Ontario. 
Young Mackenzie now rides the largest bicycle 
in the United States, and is a trusted man in 
his rescuer's employ. 

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rushed into my office, his eyes electric sparks. 
' Mr. Mackenzie,' he cried, ' I can send two 
messages at the same time over a single wire ! ' 
" ' Away with your nonsense ! ' I replied, and 
drove him out of the office. After the Boston 
trial in which Edison's claim to the invention of 

In telegraphy, operators are taught ; receivers 
must be born. Equipped by nature and train- 
ing, Edison gave up the newsboy life, in which 
he had earned in four years $2000, the greater 
part of which he gave to his parents. 

Now began his migratory career as a tele- 



graph operator. Many ups and downs were 
his. Often he was cold, hungry, and shelter- 
less, for the insatiable impulse to experiment to 
the neglect of his duties kept him continually 
out of work. One day he reveled in the praises 
his ingenuity evoked; the next, he was dubbed 
" Luny " and turned adrift. 

Perhaps his most ingenious boyhood feat 
was performed during an ice jam that broke 
the cable between Port Huron in Michigan 
and Sarnia in Canada. The river at this 
point is a mile and a half wide. The ice made 
the river impassable, and there was no way of 
repairing the cable. 

Edison impulsively jumped on a locomotive 
and seized the valve controlling the whistle. 
He had an idea that the blasts of the whistle 
might be broken into long and short sounds, 
corresponding to the dots and dashes of te- 
legraphy. In a moment the whistle sounded 
over the river : Toot, toot, toot, toot — toot, 
toooot — toooooot — toooooot — toot, toot — 
toot, toot. * 

" Hallo-o ! Sarnia ! Do you get me ?" 

'■ Do you hear what I say ? " 

No answer. 

" Do you hear what I say, Sarnia ? " 

A third, fourth, and fifth time the message 
went across, to receive no response. Finally, 
the operator on the other side understood. An- 
swering "toots" came cheerfully back, and the 
connection was established. 

Always indifferent about his dress, with hair 
that stood up " like quills upon the fretful por- 
cupine," Edison's wanderings brought him at 
seventeen years of age to the Cincinnati office 
of the Western Union, where his absorption in 
electricity and predictions of its future power 
confirmed the sobriquet " Luny," which clung 
to him even until his fame was established. 

" We have the craziest chap in our office," 
said the telegraph manager to the editor of the 
Cincinnati Commercial Gazette; "he does all 
sorts of queer things. I would n't be surprised 
if he should be great some day. Let me tell 
you his last prank. We have been annoyed 
for some time by cockroaches. They infested 
the sink. They don't now. ' Luny ' fixed them ! 
He just ran two parallel wires around the sink, 

and charged one with negative and the other 
with positive electricity ; bread-crumbs were 
then scattered, and when Mr. Cockroach ap- 
peared and put his little feet on the wires, ashes 
were all that were left to tell the tale." In this 
cockroach " annihilator" was the germ of the 
incandescent light. 

Up all night as telegraph operator, Edison's 
curiosity would not let him sleep in the day- 
time. Inquiringly he roamed about the libra- 
ries or machine-shops of the town in which 
he happened to be, and night not unfre- 
quently found him unfitted for duty. Operators 
were required to report every half hour to the 
circuit manager. How to comply with this 
regulation and indulge in a nap at the same 
time was a conundrum Edison's fertile inge- 
nuity soon solved. He rigged up a wheel with 
Morse characters cut in the circumference in 
such a way that when turned by a crank and 
weight it would write the figure "six" and 
sign his office signal. The promptness with 
which Edison's office always responded was 
soon commented on at headquarters. Once, 
however, the main office sent a message, ask- 
ing that a train be held. There was no re- 
sponse. The young rogue had not counted 
on this. Investigation was set on foot, the 
trick was discovered, and again the boy oper- 
ator was adrift. The District Telegraph of to- 
day is the substantial expression of this sleepy 
lad's device to partake undisturbed of " nature's 
sweet restorer, balmy sleep." 

Wherever he went, in these boyhood days, he 
had a workshop, and every telegraph office in 
which he tarried witnessed some electrical freak 
of his restless brain. In some form or other, 
his subsequent inventions embody these boy- 
hood contrivances. 

The determination, industry, perseverance, 
honesty, and temperate habits of his boyhood 
followed him into manhood. The forty-five 
distinct inventions with which he has since rev- 
olutionized modern civilization, his library of 
100,000 volumes, the best-equipped laboratory 
in the world, are but the larger expression of 
the tastes of the Grand Trunk Line newsboy, 
in whom his contemporaries were unable to 
divine the Wizard of the Nineteenth Century. 

* The whistle blasts correspond to the following telegraph signals : 

which spell, in the Morse alphabet, hallo-o. 


By E. Vinton Blake. 

' EHOLD us ! We are on our 
way to the South ; we are 
in the land of the cactus, 
the maguey, and the 
banana, the land of 
sun and of shadow, 
of almost medieval ro- 
mance, of cold moun- 
tain height and fertile 
>- valley. 

In front rides Simon Casey, the guide, alert 
and active, on his big brown horse; his sharp 
blue eyes take note of all things, from the 
dropping leaf to the distant reflection of the 
sun on the mountain peak that indicates high 
noon. On his right trots " Rangoon," with big 
eyes wide open and watchful, one restless ear 
pricked forward, the other back, listening for a 
word from me. At my other side, Will Grant, 
in a brand-new hunting-shirt, bestrides his roan. 
Behind us, Hemes, Hexam, and Miner ride 
abreast, while the swarthy-faced Crix, the 
Mexican who generally presides over our 
mess-kettle, brings up the rear on his agile 
Indian pony. 

A tall, angular, consumptive-looking fellow 
was Tom Hemes when he first came out on 
the plains. Physicians shook their heads at 
him. But now the angles of rny friend's frame 
are well rounded out, he never coughs, his 
skin has a healthy bronze, he will ride as far 
and fast and hunt as well as the next man. 
The superb mountain air and the healthy out- 
of-doors life have made a new man of my friend. 
Hexam, a short, stocky, active fellow of 
twenty-six, rides one of the mustangs of the 
country ; he does not believe in the natural 
viciousness of mustangs. " Respect a horse," he 
says, " and he will respect you." I agree with 
Hexam there. 

Hemes believes that Hexam and his horse 
are well matched ; for his own part, he cannot 


ride a mustang — his long legs would drag on 
the ground. Consequently his horse is a big 
sorrel American, well broken in to all the details 
of a hunter's life. Miner's animal is a queer 
piebald, with a deal of intelligence and sagacity 
under his odd skin. 

I have been particular to introduce to you 
the four-footed members of our party, because 
I consider them of great consequence. Why 
should I not? A hunter's life often depends 
on the courage, the training, the sagacity of his 
horse ; one comes to be strongly attached to 
these dumb companions of one's adventures 
and hardships, and the rider's attachment is 
often repaid by fidelity on the part of the 

Rarely were our journeys undertaken along 
traveled or frequented routes. We sought 
rather the byways of the mountains, and little 
villages seldom visited by Americans ; and we 
frequently came upon scenes of natural beauty 
and grandeur which would offer rare inspira- 
tion to the artist. As a natural consequence, 
we often had queer experiences which could 
never have come to us had we followed the 
tamer, beaten tracks of sight-seeing tourists and 

In due course we came to Montresa. I 
never saw Montresa on any map. It is a 
queer, ruinous, dirty little place; perhaps there 
are two hundred inhabitants, men, women, and 
children. The one inn must have been hun- 
dreds of years old; it reminded me of some 
old Moorish architecture I have seen abroad. 
There was a stone fountain in the outer court, 
with dragons' heads carved on it, that was 
really beautiful, though the carvings were worn 
with age. The place must have been originally 
quite a town ; but now fully half the houses 
were deserted. 

These Mexican towns seem to present them- 
selves suddenly before you. There are no sub- 




urbs ; you see the town a long way off, and the 
houses are all together. Often the remains of 
a wall surround them, or stone gate-posts orna- 
ment the entrance of the principal street. Down 
the one street of Montresa we rode at a slow 
trot, the lounging inhabitants fixing on us eyes 
of lazy curiosity. 

Not to make a long story of it, we were in- 
stalled in due season at the inn. The worthy — 
or unworthy — Senor Juan Ferniero, his two 
brothers, his wife Inez, her mother, and his 
niece Marina, were the members of his interest- 
ing household. 

All went well till dinner was served. Then 
Senora Inez came in to wait upon us ; and with 
her came a boy of perhaps a dozen years. 

The boy immediately attracted my atten- 
tion. No Mexican about him — his eyes were 
blue, his hair was blond and curly. He mani- 
fested mortal fear of Senora Inez, who treated 
him quite as one might treat a dog. He ran 
hither and thither at her bidding; he brought 
tortillas, coffee, and the fruit after meat. 

" Where under the sun did the Mexicans get 
that little chap ? " said Will Grant to me. 

The boy understood English ; that was plain 
from the quick flash of his eye at the question. 
Still he never said a word, only shot a fearful 
glance at Senora Inez. But the Mexicans, hap- 
pily, understood only their mother-tongue. 

" Nobody knows — only he seems afraid of 
his life," said I. And just then Senor Juan 
called his wife through the open window. 

" Look here, boy," said Will, in Spanish, 
stretching out his hand. But the youngster, 
quick as a flash, thrust into it a dish of tortillas, 
saying rapidly and with an apprehensive glance 
toward the Sehora's broad back, " Tortillas, 
senor ? — si, senor " ; then he added under his 
breath in English, " Don't you speak to me. 
If you do, she '11 send me away " ; and with 
a dive he was gone into the kitchen for hot 

A general glance of astonishment passed 
around the table. No further notice was taken 
of the child for some minutes ; but we felt 
that something was wrong. 

" Here, you little — hi ! - — what 's your name ? " 
said Miner, presently, in Spanish, as he tipped 
back lazily on his bench. " Some more coffee, 

— what do you call him, senora, my good 
friend ? " 

" Henriquez, senor," answered the woman, 
with a courtesy. 

" Your child, is he ? " 

"My child! not he, senor. A servant — 
a slave that my husband bought three years 
ago." She checked herself suddenly, bestowed 
a blow on the boy's shoulders, and bade him 
get to work for a lazy scamp — did n't he see 
that senor the gentleman wanted some coffee? 

" He has not your fine black hair, senora, 
nor your dark eyes — one can see that." 

" No," assented the woman, pleased at my 
compliment, " no ; he is a poor, bleached-out 
good-for-nothing. One has to stand by with a 
rawhide to get out of him work enough to pay 
for his eating." 

" Who, then, were his father and mother, 
senora ? " 

" Who should know, senor ? " with a shrug. 

"Americans, surely," I suggested. 

" Perhaps," assented Senora Inez reluctantly, 
with a half-glance toward Senor Juan Ferniero, 
who seemed now to be listening. " But my 
husband, there, paid a good price for him to a 
Zuhi Indian, who brought him here. More 
than that I know not. Get to work in the 
kitchen, boy ! " she added spitefully to the 
child, " or else thy shoulders shall smart be- 
fore night ! " 

The child obeyed, casting on me as he passed 
a pathetic look of silent appeal that went to my 
heart. We said no more to the senora, but 
conversed in English among ourselves. 

" Wal, now, we 've stayed here long enough," 
said Simon Casey, stretching his long limbs af- 
ter dinner, " and I reckon we ought ter do quite 
a spell of travelin' this afternoon." 

" Hold on," said I; " I 'm not going to stir 
out of this till I unravel the mystery about this 
child. I 've a tender place in my heart for 
children ; and these people never came hon- 
estly by that little American fellow. I don't 
propose to leave him here, either." 

" Hullo ! " said Grant, pushing back his som- 
brero. " Have you thought, young man, that 
you '11 be getting yourself into a regular Mexi- 
can homets'-nest ? " 

" Very likely," said I ; " but I 'm going to 


i8 93 -: 



stay, all the same. And, Will, I know of no 
fellow who '11 stand by me longer than you ! " 
and I slapped his broad shoulders. 

" I 'm your man," responded the scout 

" What are you going to do, Rafe ? " asked 
Herries anxiously. 

" Circumstances must determine that," said 
I. "I want a word with the boy, alone. How 
can I manage that ? " 

"If you 're really goin' to stir up a row 

was no epithet of scorn and abuse which she 
did not heap on the unfortunate child. It was 
plain that he was a scapegoat for the faults 
of the whole family. 

"Juan, where is that obstinate ape — that 
monkey ? Where is Henriquez ? " 

"I know not," said Senor Juan, with a shrug. 
He glanced suspiciously at us, but our careless 
demeanor reassured him. " Cannot Marina find 
him ? " 

" Marina ? Doubtless, if she should try ; but 


about the little chap," said Casey, who 
had been meditating, with his hands on his 
knees, " we '11 all have a finger in the pie, I 
reckon. I '11 take a stroll about, if you 've no 
objections, while you fellers sit here and 

We had no objection, and remained lazily 
extended on seats and benches, while the old 
hunter stood leaning against the door and then 
strolled slowly away. He was gone a long 
time. During his absence, Senor Juan Ferniero 
entered and held converse awhile with us ; and 
the mother-in-law came in search of the boy, 
who appeared suddenly to be missing. There 
Vol. XX. — 49. 

the jade favors the boy, I truly believe. The 
imp ! Truly, I will beat him for this ! " 

We pretended to pay no attention ; but 
through our casual conversation in English 
every ear was intent. 

Other Mexicans strolled in ; our host was 
obliged to direct his attention to them, and I 
was able to slip out unobserved. 

It occurred to me that, as the kitchen opened 
into the corral, I might, if I went there, hear 
or see something of the lad. A laborer rose 
from the stone bench by the gate. 

" What did the senor Americano please to 




" Nothing, mio a/nigo* ; go to sleep again," 
said I. " I prefer to look after my own horse." 

The laborer willingly sat down. 

I looked around the corral. It was a large 
one, and our seven horses were loose in it. A 
stone tank, shaded by a big banana-tree, was 
built against the high wall. A little thicket of 
bamboos, bending over, screened a niche be- 
hind a broken, defaced statue which orna- 
mented the wall midway of the tank. 

Rangoon was at that moment drinking. I 
strolled leisurely across to him, and put my arm 
over his neck. I kept one eye on the kitchen 

" How do you get on, old fellow ? " said I. 
"Bread, eh? or sugar?" — for he was snuffing 
at my pockets. " Not a bit have I got for you, 
I 'm sorry to say. Perhaps by and by — ah !" 

A suppressed sob came from the bamboo- 
shaded niche behind the old statue. I stepped 
leisurely up on the wide stone margin and 
walked around, just as if to examine the carv- 
ing of the forehead and face. Yes — there he 
was, the forlorn boy, curled up in an uncom- 
monly small space. One would not have be- 
lieved he could get into the niche. There was 
no time to lose. 

" See here, boy, where did you come from, 
anyway ? " 

" From Boston, when I was eight years old," 
answered the lad, with an unmistakable Yankee 
accent ; and his blue eyes flashed out such a 
look of mingled hope and fear. " Oh, can't 
you take me away, sir ? They never bought 
me ! " 

" How did you come here ? " 

" My papa was sick, down here somewhere, 
and mama took me and came down to find 

him. We lived on street, in a big brick 

house. We could n't find papa till he was 
dying, and mama and Uncle Tom were sick, 
so they could n't send word home to grandma. 
Then Senor Ferniero said he 'd take me to New 
Orleans and send me home. But he never — 
he took me here." A sob finished the words. 

" Where was it that your mama died ? " 

" I think it was in Monterey," answered the 

" And what 's your name ? " 

" Harry Marston, sir. I have hardly dared 

to speak one word of English since I 've been 
here. I would have forgotten how, if I had n't 
whispered to myself sometimes. They whip me 
if I talk anything but Spanish." 

" How old are you, Harry ? " 

" I think I must be eleven. I was about 
eight when mama died, and there have been 
three summers since then." 

" What under the sun does the rascal expect 
to gain by keeping you here ? " I mused half to 

"I don't know, sir; but, anyway, he got all 
mama's and Uncle Tom's things when he took 
me ; and then they make me do lots of work. 
Can't you take me away, sir ? " 

" Young fellow," said I, " I mean to take you 
away if I live to go myself. But you must be 
smart and do as I tell you. I don't know 
whether the rascal will make any row," I 
added, examining the head of the old statue 
with attention, for I saw Senor Juan and a 
laborer just entering the gate. 

" Oh, but he will ! " whispered the lad; " for 
he said he 'd nearly kill me if I ever ran away. 
What shall I do ? " 

" Stay where you are, this afternoon. At night 
get on one of the horses' backs, and you can 
scale the wall. Is there any place on the road 
where I can pick you up ? " 

" In the bushes behind the big cross as you 
go to San Mateo. I '11 hide there," whispered 
the boy. 

" All right. I won't leave here till I get 
you — be sure of that." I strolled away. 

" Go down to the Mission, — he may be 
there," said Senor Juan to his man. " He shall 
smart for this ! Senor Americano, have you 
come across that imp of a Henriquez ? " 

u I shall not go boy-hunting," I answered, 
laughing. " I have not been out of the corral, 
senor 7ido amigo. You have not found him 
yet ? " 

" No, senor," replied the Mexican, with an 
ugly smile. " The rascal has left — run away, 
it is probable. Wait till I catch him ! " 

" If he is such a nuisance, why not let him 
run ? " said I lazily. 

" I do not part with my property so easily," 
answered the innkeeper. " My two brothers 
Roderigo and Miguel are searching the village. 

My friend. 




He cannot have gone far. Oh, I will warm 
him well ! " 

I wanted to knock the fellow down ! To 
keep my hands out of mischief I put them 
in my pockets. We walked together toward 
the gate, and I returned to the room where 
my companions still sat. The old guide had 
come in. 

" Find out anything ? " said he. 

" Yes," said I ; " we '11 start to-morrow morn- 
ing early. Every man had better see to the 
saddling of his own horse." 

" And one of us must guard the corral gate," 
suggested Will Grant, slily. 

" Just so, Will, my good fellow. But if mat- 
ters go as I think they will, we shall get off 
peaceably. We 're to pick up the child on the 
road to San Mateo." 

" I 've found out," observed Will, drily, 
" that in this world things don't commonly 
go as one thinks they will." 

" I 've found out," said I, laughing, " that 
after Will has had his croak out, there 's no 
fellow readier than he to bear a hand in any- 

" Much obliged," said Will. 

In this case we were forced to confess that 
Will's prediction had more than a grain of truth 
in it. Our plans were completely upset before 
an hour had passed. 

We were startled out of our waiting calm by 
a shout of exultation from the corral, a child's 
shriek for help, the loud-tongued vociferation 
of the mother-in-law, and Sehora Inez's shrill 

We were on our feet in a minute, and rushed 
through the gate, at which the quick-witted 
Hexam took his stand, lest we should be shut 
inside the high stone wall. 

A few brief sentences were exchanged in 
that rush. 

" Every man saddle his horse as quick as he 
can," said Simon Casey calmly. " No use now 
waitin' for to-morrow, Rafe." 

" No," said I; "I '11 carry him off." 

"All right," replied Casey. 

There was quite a scene in the corral. One 
of the rascally fellows had discovered the boy 
and dragged him from his hiding-place. Senor 
Juan, with a face of malignant joy, had him 

by the jacket, and was dragging him across 
the yard. The mother-in-law, flourishing a 
big stick, pranced on one side, and Seiiora 
Inez guarded the other. Only Marina, the 
host's niece, a good-looking young girl with 
the black eyes and hair of her race, stood 
aloof with an expression of compassion for 
the terrified boy. 

"Gain us a little time, Rafe; I '11 saddle Ran- 
goon," said Will Grant. The saddles and ac- 
coutrements were together under the archway. 
In less time than it takes to write it, every 
man had his horse by the mane. The well- 
trained animals rarely ran from their masters. 

Senor Juan stared amazed as I coolly 
blocked his way. 

"Ah, Senor Ferniero, you have then recov- 
ered your boy ? " 

" I have, indeed," answered the innkeeper, 
with a scowl of angry suspicion. He glanced 
at my busy companions, at his wife and mother, 
and back again at me. 

" Where was he ? " said I. 

" In the niche over the tank, senor. The 
rascal! — the little imp! I will teach him! 
Ah-h-h-h ! " 

He shook the unfortunate child till the little 
fellow's teeth chattered in his head. Truly, a 
greater brute than Senor Ferniero I never saw. 

" Juan, why do you stay here ? " broke in 
the old woman, angrily. " I am in haste to 
get hold of him ! Bring him into the kitchen." 

" Stop, my good friend Juan," said I, keep- 
ing in front of him; "you have not yet told 
me how you happen to own the lad." 

" What is that to you ? " snarled Senor 
Ferniero. He began to foresee trouble. He 
glanced swiftly round, and shouted for Miguel 
and Roderigo. 

" Hola, seiiora!" said I, sharply, to the old 
woman, who threatened me with a stick. 
" Don't you hit me, seiiora ; if you do, you 'II 
probably be sorry ! " 

" Out of the way, beast ! " shrieked the 
furious old woman; and the big stick came 
down with a vim. I just dodged it, whistling 
for Rangoon at the same time. The inn- 
keeper, taking advantage of the diversion, 
started on a run for the kitchen with the 
struggling boy. 




" Kick, young tm ! " shouted Will Grant, in 
English. " Kick, for your life ! " And the child, 
excited and frantic, made a desperate resistance. 

Rangoon, on a rapid trot, circled half round 
the excited group, as he came to me. He un- 
derstood clearly that there was trouble. He 
was saddled and ready. He passed close by 
Sehor Juan, who was nearing the kitchen arch- 
way, while I freed myself rather roughly from 
the vengeful woman. 

The boy, with a desperate spring, caught the 
heavy Mexican stirrup, and silently held on for 
dear life. Rangoon started sidewise with a 
leap, and Seiior Juan, despite his wrathful re- 
sistance, was dragged after. 

"Hold on tight, Harry! — curl up your feet!" 
I cried to him. Rangoon did not know what 
to make of the incumbrance ; he never had 
been known to do harm to a child, but he 
reared in the air, whirled spitefully round, and 
attacked the innkeeper with teeth and forefeet. 
To save his skin the terrified Mexican let go of 
the boy and dodged. The women, frightened 
for a moment at his peril, gave me a chance 
to get to Rangoon, who plucked the boy's 
jacket vigorously with his teeth, but offered 
him no further harm. 

The next instant I was in the saddle, and had 
pulled Harry to a seat behind me. I felt then 
that the battle was half gained. 

Meantime, Miguel and Roderigo, two labor- 
ers, and half a dozen other Mexicans had 
appeared on the scene. 

We were all in the saddle now, and held the 
gate, while the other party gathered in the street 
to oppose our progress. Their numbers were 
continually increased by wild-looking, half-breed 
Indians who came running to join the fray. 

" I '11 be glad to get out o' this," said Simon 
Casey. Grant was alert and quiet, with a look 
in his eyes that meant business. In the mo- 
mentary pause that ensued, I whipped out a 
spare strap and buckled Harry to myself. I 
meant, whatever happened, to bring off the 

There were seven of us. I did n't stop to 
count our enemies ; I am certain there were 
twenty of them. The four hunters had all the 
plainsmen's contempt for Mexican bravery ; 
my two friends were anxious but resolute ; and 

I — well, I saw clearly what I had to do, and 
meant to accomplish it, if possible. 

It is a mistake, boys, to think that a brave 
man never feels fear. Some of the bravest 
men I ever knew I have seen turn pale in the 
presence of danger and death. But, notwith- 
standing they knew the danger, they never 
faltered. That man is bravest who by sheer 
moral strength can face even terror and fight 
it down. 

" Men," said Simon Casey, in Spanish, to 
the crowd, " stand back. This boy is ours. 
Juan Ferniero never came by him honestly. 
He stole him. We will pass peaceably if we 
can, forcibly if we must. Stand back ! " 

The innkeeper had rushed through the house 
to the crowd in front. He urged them with 
shrieks and wild gestures *o attack us. They 
hesitated ; we were mounted, with arms in our 
hands. Seven resolute Americans were not to 
be despised. Just then, as Harry leaned anx- 
iously sidewise to peer around my arm, a big 
stone came flying through the air and hit my 
right shoulder-blade with a whack, almost 
knocking the breath out of me. 

One of the women in the corral behind us 
jumped up and down and shrieked with joy ; 
it was she who had thrown the stone. 

" Come ! " said I, " let 's get out of this. 
An enemy in the rear is a bad thing." 

"These women are worse than the men!" 
exclaimed Will Grant. 

A shower of stones began to fall thick and 
fast from the women, and it quickened the 
men's lagging energies. We saw that we must 
waste no more time. 

" Keep together, boys," said Casey. " Rafe, 
you and I will break through first. Now!" 

Rangoon obeyed nobly my short, stern com- 
mand. There was a rush, several men grasped 
at our bridles — only to be kicked and beaten 
oft". There were shots, shouts, flying stones, a 
veritable pandemonium of sounds — then we 
came out ahead and were off at a gallop down 
the long street with half the population at our 
heels. A few were even in their saddles and 
after us. But they did not follow us far. 

Not till we had put three good miles between 
us and the village did we halt to examine the 
extent of our injuries. Herries had got a bullet 

'893- ] 



through his arm — nothing dangerous, though; 
Hexam and Miner were badly bruised by 
stones; Crix, Will Grant, and Simon Casey were 
slightly wounded ; my hat had two bullet-holes 
in it, and my back and Harry's were badly 
bruised by stones. But, altogether, we had 
cause to be thankful for our escape. 

As night was falling fast, we had no resource 
but to ride on and on along the wild, narrow, 
lonely road, with the wild acacias on both sides, 
the odd-shaped cactuses, ghostly enough in the 
pale half-moonlight ; with now and then a faint 
glimmer from the low-lying meadows, sugges- 
tive of dark water-pools in the hollows, and the 
dark undulating outline of distant hills drawn 
sharply across the fading yellow in the west. 
The steam of the panting horses scented the 
damp, still night; their tread alone broke the 
silence of the wide country. All conversation 
had ceased among the men. 

I roused myself from an uneasy doze during 
which my body had mechanically accommo- 
dated itself to the easy lope of my horse. There 
was now no yellow in the west; the purple star- 

lit dome, flecked with drifting masses of cloud, 
arched solemnly above us. Harry's head leaned 
uneasily against my shoulder ; he was half 
asleep, but the closely buckled strap held him 

Hark ! the faint, mellow boom of the mid- 
night bell in the cathedral of San Mateo floats 
to us with strange, melancholy rhythm across 
the dim, descending slopes. Afar we discern 
its white walls and ghostly towers. The men 
find their tongues, we quicken our horses' pace 
and go flying down the hill. 

What a haven of rest to our tired frames will 
be the Hotel San Mateo ! 

We wrote to Boston, to the address that 
Harry rather imperfectly remembered, making 
an appointment in the city of Mexico for the 
last of the following month, and meantime kept 
the boy with us. I am happy to be able to 
add that no less than three near relatives of the 
lad came to keep the appointment at the time 
named, and the rejoicings over his recovery 
were great. Harry is now at home in Boston. 



By Oliver Herford. 

ALL it misfortune, 
crime, or what 
You will — his pres- 
ence was a 
Where all was 
a n d 
fair — 
A blot that 
told its dark- 
some tale 
And left its mark a blight- 
ing trail 
Behind him everywhere. 

He stood by the Atlantic's 
And crossed the azure 
And even the sea, so blue 

About his wake grew dark and bore 
The semblance of a stain. 

On English soil he scarcely more 

Than paused his breath to gain ; 
But on that fair historic shore 
There seemed to gather, as before, 
A darkness in his train. 

Then o'er the snowy Alpine height, 
To leave a stain as black as night 
On Italy's fair name. 

From Italy he crossed the blue, 
And hurried on as if he knew 

His journey's end he neared. 
On Darkest Africa he threw 
A shade of even darker hue, 

Till in the sands of Timbuctoo 
His record disappeared. 

Only an inkstand's overflow, 
O Bumblebee ! remains 
to show 
The source of your 
mishap ; 

Through sunny France, across the line 
To Germany, and 

up the Rhine 
To Switzerland 

he came ; 

But though you 've flown my ken beyond, 
The foot-notes of 
your tour du 
Still decorate my 





Bv Oliver Herford. 

The Professor. 

RAY tell me, sweet 


Oh, kindly tell me 

where you got 

Your curious 

name ? 
I 'm most desir- 
ous to be told 
The legend or 
romance of old The Professor 

The Professor. 

I 've works on Botany a few, 
But though I 've searched them through 
and through, 
Never a word 
Can I discover in the same 
About your interesting name. 


Why, how absurd ! 

From whence it came. 



fife* -'■<?%*'' «v-?-'f 
■\)i ms^»; ®MflC^™"r&r 



Quite so ! And now what could I do ? 
I shall be most obliged if you 
Will make it plain. 


Another time. One moment more, 
And you '11 be drenched ! 
It 's going to pour : 
I felt just now no less than four 
Big drops of rain. 

[Exit Professor. 


(Aside) Indeed, I 'd tell him if I knew ; 
But it would never, never do 

If I explained 
That, long ago, I quite forgot 
Why I was called Forget-me-not 

(It 's well it rained !). 


Indeed, good sir, it seems to me, 
If you have books on Botany 

Upon your shelf, 
You 'd better far consult those books — 
He learns a thing the best who looks 

It up himself. 



Selections by Florence Waiters Snedeker. 

Master John Hawkins, having made divers voyages to the Isles of the Canaries, and there, by his good and 
upright dealing grown in love and favor with the people, . . . assuming that Negroes were very good merchan- 
dise in Hispaniola, and that store of Negroes might easily be had upon the coast of Guinea, resolved with himself 
to make trial thereof. 

He was a brave man ; later he was vice-admiral of the English fleet which fought against the 
great Spanish Armada, and was knighted for his braver}' upon that occasion ; a good man and 
shrewd, writing in his ship-orders, " Serve God daily, love one another, preserve your victuals, 
beware of fire, and keep good company." But he was the first of Englishmen to commit the sin 
of taking up the slave-trade. 

He made two successful voyages, returning home with his vessel laden with " hides, ginger 
sugar, and some quantity of pearls." Then, upon the third voyage, disaster overtook him. Of 
it he wrote : 

If all the miseries and troublesome affairs of this sorrowful voyage should be perfectly and thoroughly writ- 
ten, there should need a painful man with his pen, and as great a time as he had that wrote the lives and deaths 
of the martyrs. 

Three accounts of this voyage have been gathered by Hakluyt : a brief one by Hawkins 
himself, another by Miles Phillips, and a third by the simple gunner, Job Hortop. This last 
account is as follows : 

our voyage to the west indies. 

Lee, the Queen's powder-maker. Whom I 
served until I was pressed to go on the third 
voyage to the West Indies, with the right wor- 
shipful Sir John Hawkins, who appointed me 
to be one of the gunners in her Majesty's ship 
called the " Jesus of Lubeck." 

[They went first to Africa, captured a cargo 
of slaves, and proceeded to the "mainland of 
the West Indies."] 

We came in, and tarried two months dressing 
our ships; and in the meantime traded with 
certain Spaniards of that country. There our 
General sent us into a town which stood on a 
high hill, to entreat a bishop there for his favor 
and friendship in their laws. Who, hearing 
of our coming, forsook the town in fear. 

On our way up the hill, we found a monstrous 
venomous worm with two heads. His body 
was as big as a man's arm, and a yard long. 
Our master, Robert Barret, did cut him in 
sunder with his sword ; and it made the steel as 
black as if it were colored with ink. 

(SEE PAGE 778.) 

I, Job Hortop, powder-maker, was from my 
age of twelve years brought up with Mr. Francis 

*See St. Nicholas for June 




Here be many tigers, monstrous and furious so used two of our company, had not one of 
beasts, which subtly devour men. They use them looked behind, 
the traveled ways, and will show themselves Our General sent the "Angel" and the "Ju- 


twice or thrice to the travelers, and so depart dith" to Rio de Hacha, where we anchored 
secretly, lurking till they be past. Then sud- before the town. The Spaniards shot three 
denly they leap upon them. They would have cannon at us from the shore, whom we requited 

77 8 



with two of ours, and shot through the governor's 
house. In the mean time, there came a cara- 
vel from San Domingo, whom we chased and 
drove to the shore. We fetched him thence 
in spite of two hundred Spanish arquebus- 
shot, and anchored again before the town ; and 
rode there with them till our General's coming. 

We landed and planted on the shore our 
field ordnance. We drove the Spaniards up 
into the country above two leagues. 

Thence we shaped our course to Santa Marta, 
where we landed, traded, and sold negroes. 

There two of our company killed a mon- 
strous adder going toward his cave with a cony 
in his mouth. His body was as big as a man's 
thigh, and seven feet long. Upon his tail he 
had sixteen knots, every one as big as a great 
walnut, which they say do show his age. His 
color was green and yellow. 

From thence we sailed to Cartagena, where 
we went in, moored our ships, and would have 
traded with them. But they durst not, for fear 
of the king. We brought up against the castle 
our vessel, the " Minion," and shot at the castle 
and town. 

Then we landed in an island, where were 
many gardens. There in a cave we found 
many botijos* of wine, which we brought away 
with us. In recompense whereof, our General 
commanded to be set on shore woolen and 
linen cloth, to the value thereof. 

From hence by foul weather we were forced 
to seek the port of St. John de Ullua. In 
our way we met with a small ship that was 
bound for San Domingo. On board was a 
Spaniard called Augustin de Villa Nova, who 
was the man who betrayed all the noble men 
in the Indies, and caused them to be beheaded ; 
wherefore he fled to San Domingo. Him we 
took and brought with us into the port of St. 
John de Ullua. Our General made great ac- 
count of him, and used him like a nobleman. 
Howbeit, in the end, he was one of them that 
betrayed us. 

When we had moored our ships and landed, 
we mounted the ordnance we found in the isl- 
and, and for our safeties kept watch and ward. 

The next day after, we discovered the Spanish 

fleet; thereof Lucan was general. With him 

* Small bottles. t A light sailing; V 

came Don Martin Henriquez, whom the King 
of Spain sent to be his viceroy of the Indies. 
He sent a pinnace t with a flag of truce unto 
our General to know " Of what country those 
ships were that rode in the King of Spain's 
port ? " 

Who said, " Th#y were the Queen of Eng- 
land's ships, which came in there for victuals for 
their money. Wherefore, if your General wishes 
to come in here, he shall give me victuals and 
ajl other necessaries, and I will go out on one 
side of the port, and he shall come in on the 

The Spaniard returned for answer, " That he 
was a viceroy, and had a thousand men, and 
therefore he would come in ! " 

Our General said, " If he be a viceroy, I 
represent my Queen's person, and am a viceroy 
as well as he. And if he have a thousand men, 
my powder and shot will outweigh them ! " 

Then the viceroy, after counsel among them- 
selves, yielded to our General's demand ; swear- 
ing by his King and his crown, by his com- 
mission and authority, that he would perform it. 

Thereupon pledges were given on both sides, 
and then proclamation was solemnly made on 
both sides : that on pain of death, no occasion 
should be given whereby any quarrel should 
grow to the breach of the league. And then 
they peaceably entered the port, with great 
triumphs on both sides. 

The Spaniards presently brought a great 
hulk, a ship of six hundred, and moored her by 
the side of the Minion. And they cut out port- 
holes in their other ships, planting their ordnance 
toward us. In the night they filled the hulk 
with men ; which made our General doubtful 
of their dealings. 

Wherefore, for that he could speak the Spanish 
tongue, he sent Robert Barret aboard the vice- 
roy's ship, to know his meaning in those deal- 
ings. Who willed him with his company to 
come in to him, and commanded to be set in 
the bilboes, f 

And forthwith a trumpet (for a watchword 
among the false Spaniards) was sounded for 
the carrying out of their treason against our 
General. Whom Augustin de Villa Nova, sit- 
ting at dinner with him, would then have killed 
essel used as a tender. t The stocks. 

i8 9 3-: 



with a poynado * which he had privily in his 
sleeve, but was espied and prevented by one 
John Chamberlayne, who took the poynado out 
of his sleeve. Our General hastily rose up, and 
commanded him to be put prisoner in the Stew- 
ard's room, and to be kept with two men. 

The faithless Spaniards, thinking all things to 
their desire had been finished, suddenly sounded 
a trumpet. And therewith three hundred Span- 
iards entered the Minion. 

Whereat our General, with a loud and fierce 
voice, called, " God and Saint George ! Upon 
those traitorous villains, and rescue the Minion ! 
I trust in God the day shall be ours! " 

With that the mariners and soldiers leaped 
out of the Jesus of Lubeck into the Minion, 
and beat out the Spaniards, and, with a shot 
out of her, set fire to the Spanish vice-admiral's 
vessel ; where the most part of three hundred 
Spaniards were spoiled and blown overboard 
with powder. Their admiral's ship also was on 
fire half an hour. 

We cut our cables, drew off our ships, and 
fought with them. They came upon us on every 
side, and continued the fight from ten of the 
clock until it was night. They killed all our 
men that were on shore in the Island, saving 
three, which, by swimming, got aboard the 
Jesus of Lubeck. They sunk the General's 
ship, and took the " Swallow." The Spanish 
admiral's vessel had about threescore shot 
through her. Four other of their ships were 
sunk. There were in that fleet, and that came 
from the shore to rescue them, fifteen hundred. 
We slew five hundred and forty. 

In this fight the Jesus of Lubeck had five 
shots through her mainmast. Her foremast was 
shot in sunder, under the hounds,! with a chain- 
shot ; and her hull was wonderfully pierced 
with shot. It was impossible to bring her away. 

They set two of their own ships on fire, 
intending through them to have burnt the 
Jesus of Lubeck ; which we prevented by cut- 
ting our cables in halves, and drawing off. 
The Minion was forced to set sail, and stand 
off from us, and come to an anchor without 
shot of the island. 

Our General courageously cheered up his 

soldiers and gunners, and ordered Samuel, his 

* Poniard. t Projec 

page, to bring him a cup of beer, who brought 
it to him in a silver cup ; and he called to the 
gunners to stand by their ordnance lustily, like 

He had no sooner set the cup out of his 
hand, but a shot from a light cannon struck 
away the cup and a cooper's plane that stood 
by the mainmast, and ran out on the other side 
of the ship. Which nothing dismayed our Gen- 
eral; for he ceased not to encourage us, saying, 
" Fear nothing ; for God, who hath preserved 
me from this shot, will also deliver us from 
these traitors and villains ! " 

Then Captain Bland, meaning to have turned 
out of the port, had his mainmast struck over- 
board with a chain-shot that came from the 
shore. Wherefore he anchored, fired his ship, 
took his pinnace with all his men, and came 
aboard the Jesus of Lubeck to our General. 

Who said unto him, that he thought he would 
not have run away from him. He answered, 
that he was not minded to run away; but his 
intent was, to have turned up, and to have laid 
aboard the weathermost side of the Spanish 
fleet, and fired his ship in hope therewith to 
have set on fire the Spanish fleet. The Gen- 
eral said if he had done so, he had done well. 

With this, night came on. Our General com- 
manded the Minion, for safeguard of her masts, 
to be brought under the Jesus of Lubeck's lee. 
He willed Mr. Francis Drake to come in with 
the Judith, and to lay aboard the Minion: to 
take in men and other things needful, and to go 
out. And so he did. 

When the wind came off the shore, we set 
sail ; and went out in despite of the Spaniards 
and their shot. 

We anchored under the island, the wind 
being northerly, which was dangerous, and we 
feared every hour to be driven with the lee shore. 

When the wind came larger, we weighed 
anchor, and set sail, seeking the river of Panuco 
for water, whereof we had very little. And 
victuals were so scarce, that we were driven to 
eat hides, parrots, and monkeys. 

Wherefore our General was forced to divide 

his company into two parts. For there was a 

mutiny among them for want of victuals. And 

some said, that they had rather be on the shore 

ting pieces near the masthead. 





to shift for themselves amongst the enemy, 
than to serve on shipboard. Those that would 
go on shore, he willed to go forward by the 
foremast ; and those that would tarry, to go 
by baftmast.* 

Seven score of us were willing to depart. 

Our General gave unto every one of us six 
yards of cloth, and money to them that de- 
manded it. When we were landed, he came 
unto us. Where, friendly embracing every one 
of us, he was greatly grieved that he was forced 
to leave us behind him. He counseled us to 
serve God, and to love one another. And thus 
courteously he gave us a sorrowful farewell, and 
promised, if God sent him safe home, he would 
do what he could that so many of us as lived 
should be brought into England ; and so he 
did. Thus our General departed to his ships. 

Fearing the wild Indians that were about us, 
we kept watch all night. 

And at sun-rising we marched on our way, 
three and three in a rank, until we came into a 
field under a grove. Where the Indians came 
upon us, asking us what people we were, and 
how we came there. 

Two of our company, Anthony Goddard and 
John Cornish, for that they could speak the 
Spanish tongue, went to them and said, We 
were Englishmen, that never came in that coun- 
try before, and that we had fought with the 
Spaniards ; and, for that we lacked victuals, 
our General set us on shore. 

They asked us, Whither we intended to go ? 

We said to Panuco. 

The captain of the Indians willed us to give 
unto them some of our clothes and shirts; 
which we did. Then he bade us give them 
all ; but we would not. Whereupon the cap- 
tain willed us to follow him, who brought us 
into a great field, where we found fresh water. 
He bade us sit down about the pond, and 
drink ; and he and his company would go in 
the meantime to kill five or six deer, and 
bring them to us. We tarried there till three 
of the clock, but they came not. 

We traveled seven days and seven nights, 
feeding on roots, and guavas, a fruit like figs. 

Coming to the river of Panuco, two Spanish 
horsemen came over unto us in a canoe. They 

* The abaft-mast, or 

asked us, How long we had been in the wilder- 
ness, and where our General was ? for they 
knew us to be of that company that fought 
with their countrymen. We told them, Seven 
days and seven nights ; and for lack of victuals 
our General set us on shore, and he was gone 
away. They returned to their governor, who 
sent five canoes to bring us all over. 

Which done, they set us in array; where a 
hundred horsemen, with their lances, came for- 
cibly toward us. But they did not hurt us. 
They kept us prisoners at Panuco for one night. 
Thence we were sent to Mexico. 

The king's palace was the first place we were 
brought into. Without, we were willed to sit 
down. Much people, men, women, and chil- 
dren, came wondering about us. Many la- 
mented our misery. Thence we were carried 
in a canoe to a tanner's house, which standeth 
a little way from the city. 

And then they brought us much relief, with 
clothes. Our sick men were sent to their hos- 
pitals, where many were cured. 

The viceroy intended to hang us. Where- 
unto the noblemen of that country would not 
consent, but prayed him to stay until the ship 
of advice brought news from the King of Spain 
what should be done with us. Then this vice- 
roy sent for our master, Robert Barret, whom 
he kept prisoner in his palace until the fleet 
was departed for Spain. 

The rest of us he sent to a town seven 
leagues from Mexico, to card wool among the 
Indian slaves. 

Which drudgery we disdained ; and con- 
cluded to beat our masters. And so we did. 
Whereupon they sent to the viceroy, desiring 
him to send for us; for they would not longer 
keep us. 

The viceroy sent for us, and imprisoned us 
in a house in Mexico ; from thence to send 
some of our company into Spain. The rest of 
us stayed in Mexico two years, and then were 
sent prisoners into Spain with the Spanish fleet 

When we were shipped, the General called 
our master, Robert Barret, and us with him 
into his cabin ; and asked us, If we would 
fight against Englishmen, if we met them ? 

We said, That we would not fight against 
mast nearer the stern. 



7 8l 

our crown. But if we met with any other, we 
would do what we were able. 

He said, That if we had said otherwise he 
would not have believed us; and for that we 
should be the better used, and have allowance 
as other men had. And he gave a charge to 
every one of us, according to our knowledge. 
Robert Barret was placed with the pilot, I was 
put in the gunner's room, William Cause with 
the boatswain, John Bear with the quarter- 
master, Edward Rider and Geffrey Giles with 
the ordinary mariners, and Richard, the master's 
boy, attended on him and the pilot. 

We departed from the port of St. John de 
Ullua with all the fleet of Spain. 

On St. James' Day we made rockets, wheels, 
and other fireworks to make pastime that 
night, as is the custom of the Spaniards. 

When we came unto the land, our master 
conferred with us to take the pinnace one 
night, to escape the danger and bondage that 
we were going into. Whereunto we agreed. 
None had any pinnace astern but one ship, 
which gave great courage to our enterprise. 

AVe prepared a bag of bread and a botijo of 
water, which would have served us nine days, 
and provided ourselves to go. Our master 
borrowed a small compass of the master-gun- 
ner of the ship. 

Who lent it to him, but suspected his intent, 
and made the General aware of it. 

He called R. Barret, commanding his head 
to be put in the stocks, and a great pair of iron 
bolts on his legs. And the rest of us to be set 
in the stocks by the legs. Then he willed a 
cannon to be shot off, and he sent the pin- 
nace for the admiral and all the captains and 
pilots to come aboard. He commanded the 
mainmast to be struck down, and to put two 
pulleys, on every yardarm one. The hang- 
man was called, and he swore by the King that 
he would hang us. 

The Admiral, Diego Flores de Valdes, asked 
him, Wherefore ? 

He said, That we had determined to rise in 
the night with the pinnace, and with a ball of 
firework to set the ship on fire, and go our 
ways. " Therefore," said he, " I will have you, 
the captains, masters, and pilots, to set your 
hand unto that. For I swear by the King, 
that I will hang them ! " 

Diego de Flores answered, " I, nor the cap- 
tains, masters, nor pilots, will not set our hands 
to that ! " For he said, If he had been pris- 
oner, as we were, he would have done the like 
himself. He counseled him to keep us fast in 
prison till he came into Spain. For he would 
not have it said that, in such a fleet as that 
was, six men and a boy should take the pin- 
nace and go away. 

And so the Admiral returned to his ship 

When he was gone, the General came to 
the mainmast to us, and swore by the King 
that we should not come out of the stocks 
till we came into Spain. Sixteen days after, we 
came over the bar of San Lucar. 

[After twenty-one years in Spain, much of the 
time in the galleys, he " made riieans to come 
away in a fly-boat " belonging to a Fleming.] 

In the month of October last, at sea, off the 
southernmost cape, we met an English ship 
called the " Galleon Dudley," which took the 
Fleming and me aboard, and brought me 
to Portsmouth, where they set me on land the 
second day of December last, 1590. From 
thence I was sent by the lieutenant of Ports- 
mouth, with letters to the Right Honorable the 
Earl of Sussex, who commanded his secretary 
to take my name and examination, how long 
I had been out of England, and with whom 
I went. 

And on Christmas eve I took my leave of 
his Honor, and came to Redriff. 



By William O. Stoddard. 

\Begiin hi the November number, .] 

Chapter XVII. 


Ka-kak-kia and his followers and their 
enemies, with whom there was now tempora- 
rily a truce, had of course made a search after 
Beard and the white horseman whom he had 
rescued; but they were not surprised at failing 
to find either of them. One of the cave-man's 
strong points, in their esteem, was that they 
could not kill him, while another was his 
magical power of vanishing. 

They were puzzled, however, as to what had 
become of the two white fellows who had shot 
the kangaroos, by the cabbage-palm prairie. 
They were also deeply interested in the six 
white fellows encamped near the waterfall, and 
as to the best method to take in boomerang- 
ing or spearing them. 

They were holding an animated debate 
upon these questions, when the rattle of the 
shots that had been fired by Bill and Jim came 
to their ears. 

After that, the presence of the great dingo 
pack gave them yet another problem; but they 
knew the habits of wild dogs. Many kanga- 
roos and other game had come or been chased 
into those woods ; many squads of dingoes 
had been attracted. A hunt for something 
to eat was as necessary to them as to the 
fierce creatures who had already treed so many 
of them, after driving away any large game 
from that neighborhood ; and they decided to 
hunt, and fish, and dig before waging another 
war. They were pretty sure of success. All 
animals, large or small, all birds that could 
be reached, nearly all things were food to 
them. The Australian blackfellow has no nar- 
row prejudices, and he can live well where the 
ignorant, helpless white fellow might starve. 
It was also true that they could do, at the 

same time, all the scouting needful, and they 
scattered in all directions. 

Bill and Jim were still sitting in the forks 
of their respective trees, discussing the dingo 
question, the blackfellows, and Beard, when 
they heard a cautious " Coo-ee-e " at no great 

" Bill," exclaimed Jim, as he answered it, 
" those are our fellows ! " 

" What on earth are you two doing up those 
trees ? " the new-comers asked. 

The explanation, which was given as they 
were getting down, brought on a lively talk, 
and it seemed as if even the dingoes were of 
less importance than the actual sight of the 
owner of the nuggets and the excellent chance 
of catching him. 

" We are sure of him now ! " they said. " Bill 
and Jim can go to camp for some rations. 
We '11 go and take a look at the place where 
you met the dingo pack. Don't you be gone 
too long. We '11 capture him ! " 

They were hardened to the dangers of the 
life they were leading, and they knew, besides, 
that four experienced riflemen were a strong 
party against any enemies likely to come. 

The four went and stood under the great 
tree before Beard's front door, and looked at 
it ; but they never dreamed of burrowing under 
the roots of the tree. 

The great cavern was still secure, so far as 
any search from without was concerned. Never 
before had it been so brilliantly illuminated, but 
the people in it were not admiring the gleam- 
ing white splendors around and above them. 

The cave-man himself had been the person 
nearest to Lady Parry, as they retreated from 
the edge of the chasm toward the fireplace, 
and she had stared at him with a strangely 
bewildered expression upon her face. Sud- 
denly she staggered and reeled, and he put 





out an arm, as if to save her from falling, ex- 
claiming : 

" Sir Frederick, she is fainting ! " 

" No ; I am not," she said, but it was evi- 
dently with a great effort, and his help was 
really just in time. He was compelled to sup- 
port her for a moment, before she could re- 
cover herself. Ned Wentworth had been 
almost as quick to come, torch in hand, and 
he held it very near. As he did so, he saw 
that Lady Parry had turned pale, and he 
thought that he heard her say something. 
Then he saw the cave-man's face turn deadly 
white, and it seemed as if he also said some- 
thing. It sounded like : " No ; he is dead ! " 

" I never noticed it before," said Ned to 
himself, " but Lady Parry's eyes and hair cer- 
tainly are very like the cave-man's." 

The likeness came out stronglv in the torch- 
light, and a strange idea came flashing into 
Ned's mind. But Lady Parry had already 
recovered her composure, and Sir Frederick 
had been listening to Hugh. 

"Father!" shouted Hugh. ''Did you see 
those dingoes ? They are crowded over. Down 
they go — one, two, three of them ! Look ! " 

One after another, three unlucky wild dogs, 
pressed by an eager rush of their companions, 
were forced over the edge of the chasm. 
Down they went, and the splashes of their 
plunges into the water below could be heard. 

Their barking, or something else, had de- 
tached a big stalactite from the roof over that 
side of the chasm, and it had fallen, with a 
shattering and a scattering of fragments, right 
among the pack. One or two must have been 
crushed and others injured; and all were smit- 
ten with a sudden panic. The fire and the 
falling rock, together, had temporarily con- 
quered their ferocity, and they fled, howling, 
into the unbroken darkness beyond. 

"Of course they can get out," said Beard, 
" and we 're rid of them for this time." 

" I am thankful," said the baronet. " It 's a 
great deliverance. But what I 'm thinking of 
is the horses. If they have gone astray, or if 
the wolves find them, we can't get away." 

" They are cared for," exclaimed Beard. 
" They 're all away down below the mountain, 
on the river bank, about where Ned found 

Helen. There 's water enough there, and good 
grass, too. They '11 be ready when we want 

" You 're a thoughtful man," said Sir Fred- 
erick, heartily. " I don't exactly see what to 
make of you." 

" Frederick," said Lady Parry, huskily, 
" come with me ! " 

Again Ned Wentworth thought he saw 
Beard's face turn white; but he had a ques- 
tion to ask, and it kept him from noticing 

" Beard," he said, " we 've made a fire here, 
but there 's more smoke than that can make. 
It seems to me I smell burning leaves." 

"Leaves?" said Beard. "You are right, 
Ned ; there 's smoke coming up from the 
chasm ! I can't understand it. I had some 
bags of leaves, to sleep on, in my old place, 
but it can't be those. What can it be ? " 

Lady Parry had led her husband away, and 
at that moment she was looking earnestly into 
his face, while she clung to his arm with both 
hands. She was saying something rapidly, and 
Ned heard the reply in the deep tones of the 
baronet : 

" Fallen so low as this ? " 

" He saved our lives," she said. " Yours, 
mine — " 

" Yes, Maude," he responded ; " but what 
brought him here ? " 

" He saved our lives ! " she repeated, as if 
she could think of no other answer, just then. 

" Yes," he said, " and I do not mean to be 
ungrateful ; but how did he ever come to live 
in a house of this kind ? Beard," he added, 
more loudly, to the cave-man. " Can you 
come here for a moment ? " 

" Not now, Sir Frederick," responded the 
cave-man. " I '11 explain by and by. Some- 
thing new has happened. Do you smell that 
smoke ? See it rising from the chasm ! " 

" It smells like burning grass," said Lady 
Parry. " Is the forest on fire ? " 

" Not the forest itself," he said thoughtfully. 
" It 's too green, I should say. Sir Frederick, 
I must speak plainly. The fire may make this 
cave an oven ! We may be in great peril." 

" How so, Tom ? " said the baronet, throw- 
ing a protecting arm around his wife. 




" Tom ? " said Ned Wentworth to himself. 
" That was the name of her brother, in the 
story he told me ! That was the name of the 
convict they all turned against. That 's why 
his face is like Lady Parry's." 

Beard — or Tom Gordon, if that was his 
name — hesitated for a moment, and then 
replied to Sir Frederick: 

" I never went over to the other side of this 
mountain. It 's more of a hill — a ridge — than 
a mountain, and it is a succession of rugged 
ledges covered with thick scrub. You can't 
get through, it 's so thick. I always took for 
granted that the river ran around it ; but it 
does n't. That 's the river, right down there 
in the chasm. It runs underground for some 
distance, just like twenty other Australian 

" But it won't burn," said the baronet ; " and 
the forest won't burn." 

" The scrub on the hill is dry as tinder, at 
this season," said Tom. " The rubbish under 
it will burn ; and there 's a seam of lignite 
that will burn almost like hard coal. It 's all 
afire, I think." 

" Must we stay and be suffocated ? " asked 
Lady Parry. " Can't we get out at the front 
entrance ? " 

" Now the dingoes are gone, there are only 
the blackfellows and the white robbers to fear," 
the cave-man said. " I will go and look out." 

" But the side door ? " said the baronet, 
adding, the next moment, — " No ; Maude and 
Helen could never climb that ladder." 

" Sir Frederick," said the cave-man, with a 
shudder, " that door would lead us out into 
the fire, I 'm afraid. Besides, one of our 
worst perils is on that side. I '11 tell you what 
it is, as soon as I get back." 

He strode away and disappeared among 
the pillars ; for they had all now returned to 
the fireplace. 

" Maude," said Sir Frederick, " this is all so 
strange, so unexpected, that I 've got beyond 
being surprised by anything. I 'd hardly be 
startled if the roof should fall." 

"The boys have heard enough — " began 
Lady Parry; but she was interrupted. 

" So have I, Aunt Maude," said Helen, ex- 
citedly, though not speaking loudly. " Is he 
Vol. XX.— 50. 

my Uncle Tom ? Is this man we call Beard, 
your brother, Tom Gordon?" 

" Sir Frederick," said Ned, " may I tell 
what he told me ? " 

" Yes," said the baronet. 

" Quick, Ned! " exclaimed Lady Parry. " Tell 
it before he gets back." 

Ned was eager to tell all that he had heard 
during his moonlight scout with Beard, and 
he was listened to with eager attention by the 
whole party. 

" I believe it," said Sir Frederick. " I be- 
lieve every word of it ! " 

"Believe it?" exclaimed Lady Parry. "Of 
course I believe it. Tom 's a wronged man. 
Why did he not let us know? My poor 
brother! He was always heedless, and he was 
proud, too ! " 

" I 'm glad he 's my uncle," said Hugh. 
" I knew he was a gentleman, the first glimpse 
I had of him." 

" That won't save his life," said Sir Fred- 
erick thoughtfully. " There 's too much evil- 
doing been laid at his door. All the villains 
made him their scapegoat." 

" Frederick," said his wife, " Tom could not 
have done anything criminal ! " 

" I don't say he did," replied the baronet. 
" I mean that all the bushrangers laid their 
deeds to him, and he must suffer accordingly. 
There are rewards offered — " 

" But he did n't do anything ! " exclaimed 
Helen. " I know he did n't ! They can't 
hang him for things that he did n't do." 

" Yes, they might," said Sir Frederick. " I 
don't see how he 's to clear himself." 

" We 're bound to save him ! " exclaimed 
Hugh ; " he saved our lives ! " 

" Sir Frederick," said Ned, " I think we 
can, too. I 've an idea in my head that oc- 
curred to me when he told me the story, that 
night. I 've thought how to save just such a 
man as he told about ! " And Ned talked 
rapidly on for a minute or so. 

Out at the cave door, Beard, or Tom Gor- 
don, was peering anxiously through the slit and 
into the faces of four men. Every face he 
saw was that of a man who had been justly 
convicted of crime. 

" Boys," said one of diem, " he 's right 




around here, somewheres. We '11 capture him, 
nuggets and all." 

" He can't get away, this time," said an- 
other. " We '11 fix him ! It 's a pity we could n't 
take him in and claim the rewards offered for 

" We can't do that," was the reply. 

Beard, behind the bark door, muttered to 
himself: "They won't get him; but I don't 
see how he 's to get out of this. We 're all 
shut in an oven." 

The four men now began to make remarks 
about the smoke, and to wonder where it came 

" I had a torch, before daylight this morn- 
ing," said one of them. " I threw it into some 
scrub, not more than a mile above here, when 
I was scouting toward the river, away from 
the rest of you. It might have lit — " 

" Well, I guess it did," broke in another. 
" Look up yonder ! " 

They looked along the slope, as he pointed, 
but there was less and less to see every minute. 
Great clouds and columns of smoke were rising, 
and were driving before the warm north wind 
that was beginning to blow. 

Tongues of dancing fire now a,nd then shot 
up out of the smoke-clouds. There could be 
no doubt of it, whatever : all that side of the 
mountain was ablaze, and the flame was cross- 
ing the ridge to come down on the other side. 
It fed upon dense dry scrub and underbrush, 
and the rubbish collected there century after 
century. There was fuel enough, and, now it 
was so well kindled, there would be fire and 
smoke enough. The four robbers said so, and 
Beard, or Tom Gordon, heard them. He went 
back into the cave to tell the story. 

Sir Frederick Parry heard him through, as 
did all the rest; but while the rest looked at 
one another in silence, the baronet beckoned 
the cave-man to follow him. 

" Tom," he said, — " Are you really Tom 
Gordon ? Ned Wentworth has told us the 
story you told him — " 

"I 'm Maude Gordon's — Lady Parry's — 
brother Tom," the cave-man replied ; " but 
that 's of little consequence, just now. I 'm a 
doomed man, at all events; and I 'm afraid 
we 're all lost." 

" I believe every word you 've said," inter- 
rupted the baronet; " and that Yankee boy has 
been proposing a plan for your benefit we can 
discuss pretty soon. What did you say about 
the greatest danger being at the side door? 
How can anybody get in there ? " 

" Nobody can," said Tom Gordon. " That 
is not the danger. I 'm a miner. That is, I 
have been- — " 

" I saw your crucible," said the baronet, 
" and I hope you succeeded." 

" I did," said Tom. " I hope to show you 
how well. But that was done by placer-work, — 
washing out, you know. I found a good quartz 
vein, though, and I was fool enough to set out 
to work it, just for something to do. I needed 
to do some blasting, and I bought all the pow- 
der one other party had. They 'd failed. They 
had six kegs of blasting-powder and two big 
cans of dynamite, and it 's all stored in the 
crevice we came in by, at the side door. Logs 
are piled over it. We 'd run the risk of an 
explosion, if we went that way — " 

" Is it sure to explode, sooner or later ? " 
asked Sir Frederick calmly. 

" Of course it is, when the fire gets in there," 
said Tom Gordon ; " and there 's no telling 
what it will do to the cave and the mountain." 

"It will be a heavy blast," said the baro- 
net. "At all events, the dingoes won't come 
back while the mountain 's on fire. Is there 
any chance for us at the front door ? " 

" Toward night there may be — if we 're alive 
then," said Gordon. " We must get ready, 

" If I can once reach my own camp," said 
Sir Frederick, " I think I can see you cleared. 
The Yankee boy's idea is a good one." 

If the baronet had then been at the camp, he 
would have seen a very extraordinary affair. 
His four men had evidently been riding far 
enough and fast enough to tire their horses, and 
had brought them back to the river for water. 
All had dismounted, and now stood staring 
out at something that floated down the swift 
current of the river. 

" Marsh," said Keets, " they can just keep 
their fore paws well over it." 

" It rolls under them — don't you see ? " 
asked Marsh. 

■8 9 3-: 



" Don't I see ? " exclaimed Bob McCracken — 
" don't I ? Well, I do see ; but I never in 
all my life before saw three wolves a-floatin' 
down-stream on one log ! " 

Three mournful howls from the dingoes on 
the log came back for answer. The plunge 
down into the chasm had, indeed, not been 
enough to kill them. 

Chapter XVIII. 
tom Gordon's treasure. 

" Tom," said Lady Parry, coming nearer to 
him and her husband, " I wish you would tell 
me more about yourself." 

" No, Maude," he replied ; " not now. If we 
ever get out of this place alive, I shall have 
enough to tell you." 

" Have you any idea what to do?" she asked. 
" The fire cannot get in here." 

" No," he said. " Yes, there is one thing we 
can do, while we are waiting. Come with me, 
Sir Frederick and Ned and Hugh." 

He strode away, and the baronet and the 
boys followed him down the sloping floor of the 
cave. He and Sir Frederick carried torches, 
and the two boys had to be told to leave their 
guns behind, because there would be nothing 
for them to shoot. 

"Where can they be going, Aunt Maude?" 
asked Helen. 

" I have no idea," said Lady Parry. " How 
I do want to know more about Tom ! It is so 
manv long years since we lost sight of him ! 
Why, my dear, your uncle has property in Eng- 
land — not much, but enough to live on. His 
brother — your father — would n't keep it from 
him a day." 

" Of course he would n't," said Helen ; " but 
what good is his property, if they hang him for 
things that he never did ? " 

" It 's a dreadful situation ! " said Lady Parry, 
weeping. " Why did we ever come out into 
the bush!" 

" Why, Aunt Maude," said Helen, " we did n't 
know it, but we really must have come out here 
after Uncle Tom." 

" And now we 've found him," replied Lady 
Parry, between her sobs, " it is only to die 
together ! " 

" I don't believe it," said Helen. " Don't 
you see that we never would have found him 
if we had n't lost ourselves first ? " 

Tom Gordon walked out of the main room 
of the cave by a rugged, gloomy, water-drip- 
ping corridor, and the rest followed him with 
eager curiosity. Sir Frederick was about to 
ask where it led to, when the cave-man halted, 
remarking : 

" Look down through that hole. I used to 
amuse myself by making bags of kangaroo- 
skin to put the gold in. There 's enough of 
them to hold it. Sir Frederick, you and I and 
Hugh can go down and pitch the bags up to 
Ned. Stay here, Ned." 

" It 's all gold ! " exclaimed the baronet. 

" I ran it into bars as well as I could," said 
the cave-man, " but the heap of slag out there 
by the fireplace has plenty of gold in it yet. 
I could n't get it all out, you know." 

Down they went through the hole before 
them, and they stood among the spread-out 
bars on the floor of the treasure-chamber. 

" Mark what I say now, Sir Frederick," 
said the cave-man. " Look at this stuff. I 
never could quite understand why I worked so 
hard to get it, seeing I had no use for it, and 
never could have. Now, we may get you back 
to the Grampians, and we may not. It 's 
pretty sure death for me, anyhow. If I get 
through into the world, of course the gold is 
all mine. If I don't, you need n't say where it 
came from. Give Ned a quarter of it, and 
divide the rest between Hugh and Helen. 
You and Maude and my brother Robert do 
not need any of it. Perhaps the young people 
don't, but I hope it won't hurt them." 

" I '11 do just as you say," said the baronet. 
" Trust it with me. But I think Ned's Yankee 
idea will work. It 's just this — " 

" Not now," said the cave-man, beginning to 
pick up the bars and drop them into the little 
leather bags that lay beside them. " There 's 
no time to talk. Put the bars into the sacks 
and pitch them up to Ned." 

It was easy and rapid work, and as soon as 
it was done they all clambered back to the 

" There," said the cave-man, looking at the 
heap of bags. " There 's a lot of it. I 've been 




at it, year after year, making trip after trip to 
the gulches, — melting, casting, there and here, 
because I had nothing else to do. I had nothing 
to spend it on, and nobody to divide with." 

'• Well," replied the baronet, " the bags weigh 
ten or twelve pounds apiece. You and I can 
take two in each hand, and the boys one in 
each hand. That 's twelve bags among us — 
about a hundred and fifty pounds or less. We 
can carry them all out to the front door, if 
we 're not too long about it ; but we can't take 
them away with us." 

" Not this time," said Tom Gordon. " But 
they '11 be there if we can come back. I think 
we must work fast." 

They gathered up their loads and went ; and 
no sooner were they where they could be seen 
than Lady Parry, standing up with a torch in 
her hand, exclaimed : 

" Frederick, where does this smoke come 
from ? Is the cave on fire ? Is it a volcano ? " 

" No, my dear," said he, quietly; "it 's only 
the scrub and brush outside. The cave 's all 

" What have you there ? " she asked. 

" Some of Tom's property," he saick 

" Mother ! " shouted Hugh. " It 's all gold ! 
Heaps of it ! Uncle Tom 's a rich miner — " 

" And the poorest man in all the world," 
added Tom himself, — "an outlaw, with a price 
on his head — a mere dingo, to be shot at 

" You must not be discouraged," said the 
baronet, hopefully ; " Ned Wentworth's idea 's 
a good one. We can carry it out." 

Down went the bags among the pillars, near 
the burrow to the door, and they hastened 
back for more, leaving Lady Maude and 
Helen talking over the remarkable matter of 
the gold bars. It was less and less easy to 
talk without coughing, for the smoke was be- 
coming denser and more pungent. 

The four men at Sir Frederick's camp had 
watched the wolves go by, and then Marsh re- 
marked, with a slow shake of his head : 

" B'ys, I 've heard that dingoes could swim. 
Yes, I knew they were good swimmers, but 
think o' the likes o' that ! " 

" 'Deed, and I 'd heard they could swim," 

said Bob McCracken. "I 'd heard tell how 
cute they were, too, — cunning as foxes. But 
who ever heard of 'em goin' to sea on a log 
to help 'em cross a river ? " 

The forest grew dim with smoke, blown 
down from the blazing slopes of the moun- 
tain. It was as if the bright December sky 
were getting densely clouded, and the air grew 
uncomfortably warm even for that hot season 
of the year. 

It was a bad day for hunting and for fishing 
and for scouting. All the hunters and fisher- 
men, whether black or white, wasted a great 
deal of time in watching the fire which was 
now sweeping so fiercely over the mountain. 

" That fellow will find himself roasted, Bill," 
said Jim, " if he 's up there." 

" No, he won't," said Bill ; " but it '11 drive 
him down to where we can get at him easier. 
All we 've got to do is just to wait and let it 
burn till it drives him out." 

" We '11 watch around and get him," said 
one of their comrades ; " but the fish won't bite 
while that fire 's burning." 

Tom Gordon had explained to Sir Frederick 
that to lie in wait for him was precisely what 
he believed his enemies would do. 

" Well," replied the baronet, " but they '11 
never dream of troubling you while you are 
with us. It is n't six to one, any longer. It 's 
six to four." 

"Exactly," said Tom Gordon; "but those 
blackfellovvs are on the watch, too. We must 
avoid them as carefully as we do the robbers." 

" That is n't all, Sir Frederick," said Ned 
Wentworth. " You don't want any one to know 
that he 's gone with you. That would upset 

" Of course it would," exclaimed the baronet. 
" Why did n't I think of that ? Ned thinks 
of those things, because he 's a Yankee." 

" Well," said Tom, " I 'm a sort of Australian- 
Yankee, and it 's time for me to do a little 
scouting. I 've got to run some risks, and I '11 
take Ned with me. You must keep still here 
till we get back." 

" How long ? " asked the baronet. 

" I 'm after — the — horses ! " was all the reply 
made by the cave-man, for some smoke in his 




throat made him cough. " There 's no time to 

The great hollow of the cavern was getting 
dim and blue, and not another word of opposi- 
tion or inquiry followed Gordon and Ned as 
they hurried out. 

Sir Frederick's face grew suddenly pale over 
a thought that came to him. He was always 
listening, as if in dread of the explosion, and 
that was one thing that made him so very silent. 

I was out, in the night, I gathered them all into 
one pile." 

" I don't see how you did it," exclaimed Ned. 

" I took a horse with me," said Gordon. " I 
knew where they were. Now, Ned, down on 
all fours till we get under cover. Creep close 
after me ! " 

Down dropped Ned, and he felt at once a 
little safer. It seemed, too, as if the air had so 
many sounds in it that a mere rustling could 


The same thought kept Tom Gordon and Ned 
and Hugh silent also. 

The cave-man and Ned crept out of the bur- 
row and stood in the bushes at the foot of the 
great tree, looking and listening. 

" The smoke is going to prove a help to us," 
said Gordon, after a moment. 

" I came pretty near calling you Beard," 
said Ned. "Yes; I 'm glad. They can't see 
far. There 's one thing, though : if we get the 
horses, what are we to do about the saddles and 
bridles ? " 

" They 're all safe," said Gordon. " When 

not be heard by anybody. Voices were louder, 
however; and they had hardly reached the first 
clump of thick bushes before Ned stopped 
short. He stopped partly because Gordon 
made a kicking motion back at him, with his 
right foot. 

" I hear them, too," said Ned to himself, as 
he crouched low. 

"Seen anything of him, Jim?" said a deep 
gruff voice, not many feet away. 

" Not a sign of him," replied another. " Have 
you seen any blackfellows ? " 

" Not a sign of one," replied Jim. 




Just then Ned heard a whirring sound in the 
air and saw something flit above his head. 

" Hide, Jim ! hide ! " was shouted vigorously. 
" That boomerang did n't miss me six inches ! " 

" Now 's our time, Ned!" whispered Gordon. 
" Creep for your life ! The blackfellows don't 
yet know that we 're here." 

Ned followed him, with an idea that he had 
never until then known how close to the ground 
he could creep, and how fast he could go. 

" I 've just got it to do," he said to himself; 
but at that moment he was again warned by 
Gordon's foot. He crept alongside of him. 

" Be careful ! " whispered Gordon. 

" There they are," whispered Ned. " Half 
a dozen of them. Can we get by ? " 

" Of course we can," said Gordon. " At least, 
we can lie still here till they all get past us." 

Ned lay like a log and felt afraid to breathe, 
so very near to him and Gordon glided the 
dark shapes of the savages. There were eight 
of them, but one was only a boy, one limped 
badly, and one of them had his left shoulder 
tied up with leaves, as if it had been wounded. 

(To be 

" Now, Ned, creep ! " said Gordon. " We '11 
be beyond all danger in five minutes." 

Jim and his friend were dodging nervously 
from tree to tree, holding their rifles ready to 
shoot, and evidently considering that it was of 
little use to scout after " that fellow with the 
nuggets," until they had provided against the 
blackfellows and their threatening boomerangs. 

'• We must go for the others," they said. 
" We '11 be safer when we 're all together. 
We '11 go and get them and come back." 

" Hugh," remarked Helen, as she stood in 
the cave among the white pillars, " is n't it hard 
to wait, and not to know what 's coming ? " 

'• Unbearable ! " said he. " And how thick 
the smoke is ! " 

"It is pouring in faster and faster!" ex- 
claimed Lady Parry. " We cannot endure 
this much longer." 

" The whole mountain must be on fire ! " 
said Sir Frederick. " But the fire can't have 
reached — " 

A great volume of hot smoke rushed in, and 
he sprang to his feet. 



In the northwest corner of the gallery of the 
great Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building 
at the World's Fair is a cheery room contain- 
ing the exhibit of the publishers of St. Nicho- 
las. When you visit the Fair, — as we hope 
you will, — you must manage to find this room, 
for it contains some things you will want to 
see; and, moreover, it is a restful place, where 
you can write your letters and feel at home. 
From the wide window-seats one gets a beau- 
tiful view of the Lagoon, of the Wooded 
Island and of the great buildings beyond. 

The case at the very end of the room, as 
shown in the picture on the next page, contains 
exhibits of how illustrations are made, both 
wood-engravings and photo-engravings, and 
how a manuscript is prepared for the press. 
Every process is shown by which illustrations 

are produced for this magazine, including the 
mysterious " overlays," — layers of bits of paper 
which the printers paste on the cylinder of the 
press to bring up the dark parts of an engrav- 
ing, and make them print blacker than the light 
parts of the same cut. The manuscript ex- 
hibited is the article on " Philadelphia," by 
Talcott Williams, which appeared in the March 
St. Nicholas; and you will see it in all its 
phases, from the written "copy," through vari- 
ous proofs with their corrections and additions, 
up to the completed magazine. Among the 
photographs above this case is a view of the 
editorial rooms of St. Nicholas. 

Over a case of rare Lincoln manuscripts, 
on the right in this picture, is a frame contain- 
ing the first chapter of " Little Lord Fauntle- 
roy " in the handwriting of the author, Mrs. 

i8 93 . 



Burnett, and one of Mr. Birch's original draw- 
ings for that famous story. On the outer wall 
of the room are more St. Nicholas manu- 
scripts, among them Lord Tennyson's poem, 
" Minnie and Winnie," which he wrote for 
this magazine, with poems by Longfellow, Bry- 
ant, and Whittier, and the first pages of some 
stories St. Nicholas readers will recognize. 
The manuscripts in the Lincoln case will in- 

original drawings from St. Nicholas, with a 
great number of autograph letters from famous 
writers. Here is the original design, by Pal- 
mer Cox, for the cover of a new* " Brownie " 
book, drawings for " Lady Jane,' 1 " Toinette's 
Philip," " Inanimate Things Animated," " Uncle 
Remus " stories, and much else ; and the manu- 
scripts include letters from Oliver Wendell 
Holmes, Henry W. Longfellow, Louisa M. 


terest you, too, for here are some of the most 
important documents written by the great War 
President, including his call for 75,000 men, 
issued when the Civil War began, and the 
manuscript of the famous inaugural address 
which he read from the steps of the Capitol, 
March 4th, 1861. If you will look among the 
pictures in the swinging rack (just a corner of 
it shows in our photograph), you will find a 
collection of original drawings of " Brownies," 
by Palmer Cox. 

In the library of the Children's Building in 
another part of the Fair is a collection of other 

Alcott, James Whitcomb Riley, Thomas Bailey 
Aldrich, and scores of other famous people. In 
the Art Gallery there are more St. Nicholas 
pictures, and yet more in the Woman's Building; 
while over in the Transportation Building a 
section of the gallery is occupied by original 
drawings from The Century and St. Nicholas, 
depicting various modes of transportation. 

Indeed, St. Nicholas is well represented at 
the Fair; but it is a big place, and you cannot 
see all the exhibits. Remember the room in 
the northwest corner of the gallery of the 
Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building. 


By Charles Howard Shinn. 

Now listen, Baby Ruth, to the story that 
you like to hear. It happened in the Sonoma 
forests of California, away north of Russian 
River, where people go (as you did ortce) and 
camp near the village of Cazadero, on the road 
to Fort Ross and the ocean. Once there was 
a little brown bear in the forest not very far 
from Cazadero. He lived with his mama bear 
in a dark place under a redwood-tree, — such a 
place as Ruth saw when she lived in a little 
cloth house among the trees, by the creek 
where the salamanders swim. 

The little bear slept on a pile of dead leaves 
in the bottom of the hole. His mama took 
care of him, and sometimes he had berries to 
eat, and lots of things that he thought were 
good. He was about as big as a little dog, 
when the story begins. 

One day the little bear's mama went away 
to catch a fish in the creek, and she told him 
to be a good little bear and stay at home under 
the redwood-tree. So he crept under the leaves 
and went to sleep with only his head out, and 
he slept a long time. 

But there were two men who were walking 
through the woods, and they happened to 
come along close by the hollow tree where 
the little bear was asleep. So one man looked 
and saw the bear in the leaves, and he said: 
" Let 's catch the little bear and sell him to 
somebody to play with." 

Then the other man said that he was afraid 
the big bear might come back in a hurry and 
find them taking her little bear away, and that 
she would bite them. 

But after they had talked it over, they 
jumped down into the hole, and took up the 
little bear. And when he woke he was very 
much frightened, for two men were holding 
him. He tried to get free, and he growled 
just as loud as he knew how ; but the men held 
him tight, and ran away with him. They 

went across the creek, and climbed the hill, 
and came to another creek by the railroad 
track ; and there were the station and the hotel, 
and children picking marigolds in the garden. 

The men carried the little bear up to the 
hotel, and Mr. Burns came out and gave them 
some money, just as they expected he would. 
Then he put the little bear in a box, and gave 
him some milk to drink, while all the children 
stood around to see what happened. The dear 
little bear was so hungry that he drank up all 
the milk. Then he put his head down on his 
two little brown paws, and as he thought of his 
mama the tears rolled down his nose, and he 
said, " Ow ! Ow ! Ow ! " over and over to him- 
self before he went to sleep. He meant to say, 
" I don't like this place at all, and I want to 
go home." 

A little while after the men caught the little 
bear, the mama bear came home to her hol- 
low tree, and she felt very happy, for she had 
caught all the fish she could eat. She looked 
and looked and looked, but she could not find 
any little bear. Then she hunted along till 
she found the footprints of the men, and she 
guessed what had happened. Then she ran 
after them, but when she came to the creek 
she could not find which way they had gone ; 
and after looking all night, she had to go home 
at last without her little bear. Then she left 
the hollow under the redwood-tree, and went 
to live with a whole family of bears on the 
other side of the mountain, — nice, friendly 
bears, who were very good to her. 

But the little bear stayed at Cazadero, and 
played with the children. Then he grew big- 
ger and bigger, till he had to be fastened to a 
tree down by the creek ; and a fence was built 
around him, and the children fed him with 
nuts, and cakes, and candy. He learned to 
sit up and beg, he knew how to dance and 
shake his chain when the band played, and 



every one called him « the big brown bear of ing of the happy times he had when he was 
Cazadero." Sometimes when he lies in the a little bear, and lived with his mama in the 
shade with his head on his paws, he is think- hollow under the redwood-tree. 



By Captain H. D. Smith. 

face by the tempest. 

;NE of the best-known 
of the sea-birds is the 
stormy petrel. It is 
oftenest seen during 
storms, flying above the 
waves in search of the 
shell-fish and other 
small animals which 
are brought to the sur- 
The sailors call petrels 
" Mother Carey's chickens," and do not view 
them with much favor, owing to their being- 
constant companions of storms. " Jack " thinks 
that rough weather may be expected when he 
sees petrels about, and is not quite sure that 
they do not in some way cause the tempest. 
When the bird is on the outlook for its prey, 
it seems to walk on the water. Hence the sea- 
men of olden time, in allusion to the apostle 
Peter's walking on the water, called the bird 
petrel, from the Latin Petrellus, " Little Peter." 
So far from the sailor being superstitious as 
to the capture of another kind of petrel, the 
Cape pigeon, which is of a black-and-white 
color, and about the size of a tame pigeon, I 
have known Jack to take a hand occasionally 
in capturing them, as a bit of recreation during 
a dog-watch. In southern latitudes the Cape 
pigeons follow a ship in thousands. The method 
of catching them is peculiar. A common bottle- 
cork is tied to the end of a long piece of thread, 
and trailed astern so that the cork touches the 
water. This gives the required tautness to the 
thread. As the birds fly in clouds from side to 
side astern, some of them constantly strike the 
thread with their wings, and the resistance is 
enough to turn them over it, when the thread is 
wrapped round the wing, and the bird is hauled 
on board. In this manner I have seen hun- 
dreds caught in a day. 

On one occasion a clipper ship, carrying pas- 
.sengers to India, captured these little Cape 

pigeons by hundreds, and the surgeon by some 
mischance succeeded in entangling a stormy 

Now the doctor was an enthusiastic natural- 
ist, and what is to the sailors known as a 
" land-lubber," that is, he was on his first voy- 
age. The doctor at once took the specimen to 
his cabin, and he made preparations to skin and 
preserve it. In hot haste a deputation of sea- 
men, headed by the old gray-haired sailmaker, 
came aft with a request that the petrel be set at 
liberty, saying that otherwise the ship and all 
on board would surely suffer. The doctor, 
somewhat surprised, intended to set the bird 
free, but his enthusiasm as a naturalist prevailed 
over the superstitious warning, and when the 
sailors had disappeared, the bird was added to 
his collection. The fact soon became known 
forward among the men, and the doctor was 
regarded with black looks by the crew for the 
remainder of the voyage. 

In the course of time the good ship anchored 
in the Hugh River, and that day, at dinner, the 
doctor suddenly died. 

There was a gathering of the sailors round 
the windlass that dog-watch, and the doctor's 
sudden death was attributed, by the supersti- 
tious sailors, to his slaughter of the stormy 

Though the petrel is swift, the frigate-bird is 
far swifter. Seamen generally believe that the 
frigate-bird can start at daybreak, with the 
trade-winds from the coast of Africa, and roost 
the same night upon the American shore. 
Whether this is a fact has not yet been con- 
clusively determined; but it is certain that this 
bird is the swiftest of winged creatures, and is 
able to fly, under favorable conditions, two 
hundred miles an hour. 

The stormy petrel, in proportion to its size, 
has immense wing-power, for it is the smallest 
web-footed bird. It belongs to every sea, and, 


though .seemingly so frail, breasts the utmost 
fury of the gale, skimming with incredible velo- 
city the trough of the waves and gliding rapidly 
over their crests. It does not make a practice 


flocks, sleep upon the water at night. Off the 
Cape of Good Hope, on bright moonlight 
nights, when the weather would permit, I have 
seen through a strong night-glass dozens of the 

of alighting on the water, and seldom rises 
higher than eight or ten feet above the surface. 
I have known them to perch all night on the 
extreme end of the flying-jib boom, keeping up 
a constant low musical whistle, seemingly an 
accompaniment to the noisy waters foaming 
and eddying around the cutwater. Petrels, in 

sleeping petrels pass directly under the bows 
of the ship. They would "bob up serenely" 
astern in the glittering wake with a plaintive 
whistle, swim a few yards, and with a prelimi- 
nary flutter of wings and feathers, settle down 
to enjoy again the slumbers that had so rudely 
been disturbed. 


By E. W. W. 



When little Miss Moffit was 
frightened away from her 
tuffit by the great big black 
iSffi'Si 1 spider, the chances are that 
Sm the spider was just as willing 
, : £ - , to run away as was Miss 
■ Moffit. The average spider 
M?y \ i | is very fond of flies, but it 
would hardly attack Miss 
Moffit unless she struck out 

The fact is, spiders are 
rather ill-used ; perhaps the 
verses about the spider and 
the fly, which begin with 
the well-known invitation 
to " walk into my parlor," are responsible for 
a good deal of this feeling. Nobody is down on 
a frog because he sits on a lily-pad (which he 
did not make) and catches flies with his streak- 
of-lightning tongue; but the spider who works 
hard to build a web in which to catch its prey 
is generally held to be a rascal. 

A spider's web is a very curious and beautiful 
thing. The spinning-organs are tiny tubes, and 
the threads are a white sticky liquid which hard- 
ens at once, as it is forced out. When the spi- 
der begins to make a thread, it presses the end 
of its tubes against some object to which the 
liquid sticks. Then it moves away, and the 
thread is formed, — just as you form a rope 
when you pull molasses candy. Different kinds 
of spiders make different kinds of webs. 

The gossamer, or spider-silk, is useful to the 
owner in various ways. It may be a rope to 
swing by when the spider wishes to drop from 
a great height without hurting itself. One can 
build a " flying-bridge " of it, and another can 
almost " fly," that is, be so buoyed up in the 
air and wafted along by the breeze that it 
seems to fly. Astronomers have found it use- 
ful too, for it takes the place of a wire in some 

of their most delicate observations, where even 
the finest wire would be too coarse. 

The " cross-spider " shown in one of these 
pictures is so called on account of the white 
cross on its body: 
the name has no- 
thing to do with 
its disposition. 

There is a spi- 
der that spins a 
web under water, 
but this is for a nest 
and not for a net 
in which to catch 
other insects, as 
are most spiders' 
webs. The nest is 
made on the prin- 
ciple of a diving- 
bell; and in order 
to get air for its home, the spider carries down 
a bubble at a time, and sets it free beneath the 
bell. Other spiders live in holes in the ground, 
and make clever little trap-doors over their nests. 

The sting of the tarantula (a name derived 
from Taranto, a town of southern Italy), the 
most venomous of spiders, was popularly sup- 
posed to produce a disease called " tarant- 
ism," which could be cured only by music or 
dancing, and the dance which cured it was called 
the " tarantella." You can see the peasants dance 
the tarantella now, but without waiting for 


"The illustrations are from "The Century Dictionary. 




Contributors are respectfully informed that between the ist of June and the 15th of September manuscripts cannot conveniently be 

examined at the office of St. Nicholas. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with contributions 

will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date. 


The Agassiz Association desires to extend to all read- 
ers of St. Nicholas a most cordial invitation to visit its 
exhibit and headquarters at the Columbian Exposition. 
The association has fifteen hundred square feet of space 
in the northwest corner (up-stairs) of the Anthropolog- 
ical Building. You would hardly expect to find the 
chief exhibit of the voluntary work of the young men 
and women of America in a building with so long a 
name, but there it is. 

The Anthropological Building is in the extreme south- 
east corner of the Fair Grounds, next to the " Power 

In the Agassiz Association corner will be collections 
of birds, insects, eggs, plants, and minerals, made by 
young people in all parts of the United States, and some 
specimens sent by young folks in England, New Zea- 
land, the Sandwich Islands, and even Russia. There are 
also photographs of our local societies in their local 
rooms, together with photographs of scenery and of 
scientific objects taken by the young men themselves. 
There is a group of beavers, not alive, but represented as 
at work upon a real beaver-dam. There is also a little 
Swiss cottage, reminding us of the early home of Louis 
Agassiz, and there are reception-rooms open during the 
Fair, where all our friends will find a hearty welcome. 

H. H. Ballard, 
President A. A. 

I was so glad, as through the woods I went ! And 
now I think that 

" Keep it ! " keep it ! " meant 

Child, keep each happy though that Heaven has sent." 
we wish the F. L. F. and St. Nichols much pros- 
perity joined with all my playmats verv greatfully yours 

Fred F. H , 

May 4th, '93 
Summit M. Jersey 
Arthurs Home for Destitute Boys. 

Dear St. Nicholas : we wish to tell you how much 
pleasure we receive from St. Nichohus sent to Aru- 
thus Home through the kindness of the Fresh Leterature 
Fund and the story are so intresding and rateataion are 
so beautifull my self and playmate can not get tired of 
them Just before I begun to write I got intrested in a 
beautiful story in no 7 called how Bert killed a Jaguar 
I think it is most beautiful I wish I could speak more 
obout it I wish F. L F and St Nichouls much pros- 
perity very greatifully yours Thomas E . 

May 3 '93 

Summit N Jersey 
Aruthus Home for Destitude Boyes 

The Editor, I am very sure, will look charitably upon 
the letters which two of the boys of Arthur's Home have 
sent to me for approval before mailing, and which I 
mail without proposing corrections. 

Thomas E is a little lad from New York city, 

whose better nature is rapidly developing under changed 

influences. Frederick H is a little German lad from 

Newark, who is having a serious struggle with our lan- 
guage. Very respectfully, 

Georgiana Klingle Holmes. 

Summit, New Jersey. 

Dear St. Nicholas : we wish to tell you how much 
we Appereciate the kindness of the Fresk Literature 
Fund, by sending those beautiful No called St. Nichols 
they are interesting in our school studies. I am studing 
History and Nature I take perticular intrest in those two 
books and I think my Study of St. Nichols is just as 

I was reading yesterday of the Snake-Charmer of Mo- 

I have learned an interesting lisson on Snake Charm- 
ing, and all so a beautiful pome far in the woods in May,) 
Far in the woods — the fresh green woods — in May 
There sang a bird, but all it found to say was " Keep it ! 
keep it ! " all the merry day. 

The bird ? I nevery saw it no not I ! I followed, but 
it flitted far on high ; 

And " Keep it ! keep it " — Echo caught the cry. 

n Echo Avenue, New Rochelle, N. Y. 

My Dear St. Nicholas: I am sending you a " pi" 
for St. Nicholas, which I made from Lowell's " Biglow 
Papers." This is the first that I have ever made, so I 
suppose that it will not be very good. I have taken St. 
Nicholas for a long time, and think it the best paper 
that is published. So good-by. I am your little friend, 
Catherine Jeannette Cholmley Jones. 

P. S. Please excuse bad writing, as I am not used to 
writing without lines. 

Ze rfe awr I alcl ti drmeur, — 
Rethe uyo ehv ti lpnai 11a' laft; 
I dtn'o wtna ot og on fdrrue 
Athn ym syttnmtee efr ttha. 

Ez fer war, I call it murder, — 
There you hev it plain an' flat ; 
I don't want to go no furder 
Than my Testyment fer that. 

— From LowelVs "Biglow Papers." 

Harlem, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Yesterday, as I was going down- 
stairs to lunch, I happened to hear a slight noise in the 
library, and, as I knew the family were already at lunch, 
I could not think who it was. When I got as far as the 
door, I peeped in, and there was my little cousin Jennie 
sitting at a table reading as comfortable as ever she could 
be, and not heeding the lunch-bell at all. My brother, 
Don, was looking in the book-case for some story- 



book. Just then Jennie looked up from the book she 
was reading and said : 

" What does this book mean by the ' mellow lays ' of a 
bird ? " 

" Why, that 's an egg without any shell on, of course," 
said Don. 

This made me burst into a fit of laughter, and when 
they came to the door to see who it was, I was down in 
the dining-room and at my place at the table. I told the 
joke, and we all had a good laugh over it. 

A constant reader, Molly E . 

Pai - , Basses-Pyrenees, France. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I like your paper so much, that 
I must write and tell you so. I 've taken you only a year 
and a half, but am always very much interested in your 
stories. ■ 

Pau is rather a pretty little town, and interesting to 
visitors. The castle is, of course, the great point of 
interest. The interior is n't very pretty, and one sees 
only a very small part of it. There 's the room where 
Henry IV. was born, and his tortoise-shell cradle, which 
is very funny, and does n't look like a very comfortable 
bed for a royal child. One can also visit the house where 
he was brought up, but we 've never been there. It 
seems it is just as it used to be. 

People play golf a great deal here, and every one is 
wild over it. There are ladies' and men's links, and the 
ground where they are is beautiful. It is near the river, 
so it 's rather swampy and not very safe in wet weather. 
It is so warm here that it really feels much more like 
summer than winter. 

I have made two of those wish-bone penwipers you told 
about in your November number, and the last I dressed 
as a coachman. I made a top hat for him, which I 
painted so that it shone very bright, and I gave him a 
little whip. It was great fun making him. I think those 
penwipers are a very good idea. 

We are four girls in this family, and all love to read 
and work. We have fine times at Christmas, when 
we begin our presents. I 'm the youngest of the four, 
and fifteen, which does n't seem so very young, but 
still I don't feel at all like most girls about growing up. 
I 'd much rather go back a little. It 's much more fun to 
be young and be able to run round, and play, and do as 
one likes. 1 love toys still — at least, some toys. We have 
a little theater our sister made for us that 's great fun. 
We have little dolls about five or six inches high, that 
we dress up and make act. We have a screen all round 
the theater to hide us so that it looks as if the dolls were 
moving and talking alone. My sister paints the scenery, 
and altogether it 's fine fun. We have little footlights, 
and it looks really like a tiny little theater. We ride, 
play golf and tennis, and when it 's bad weather have 
plenty to do indoors. Your admiring reader, 

Julia O. B . 

Post Falls, Idaho. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken you for seven 
years, yet have never written you before. I commenced 
taking you with the first chapter of" Little Lord Faun- 
tleroy. " We take several magazines, but I like St. 
Nicholas best. 

Post Falls is not a very large town. It is situated at 
the foot of a mountain, near what used to be an Indian 
reservation. But we seldom see any Indians. We are 
surrounded by mountains, and have beautiful scenery, 
This has been such a long winter that I 'm afraid the 
bears will come right into town this summer, they will be 
so hungry. Last summer there were several seen near 
here. Your constant reader, RossiE C . 

Boona, India. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little girl eight years 
old. My aunt gave you to me as a Christmas present. I 
enjoy you very much. I am very much interested in the 
" Letter-box." 

My father is a missionary. I was born in Rangoon, 
Burma. But you must not think that I am a Burmese 
because I was born in Burma. I am not ; I am an 
American. I have one sister in America, and two sisters 
here, and one brother. Your loving reader, 

Flora R . 

New Orleans, La. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I live in Lawrence, Kansas, 
but we (mama and I), are spending a few months here in 
New Orleans and I like this city very much. 

My St. Nicholas is sent to me every month from 
home, and I enjoy reading it so much. I have taken 
you for five years ; you are a Christmas present every 
year from my dear grandma. 

The story of "Lady Jane" I liked better than any of 
the others, and I have been so interested here in visiting 
the scenes of her life. I have seen Good Children's 
street, where Lady Jane lived, and I saw Mardi Gras, 
and thought of the Mardi Gras when she was lost. I 
have passed several times the " Orphans' Home" where 
she was cared for, and the statue of Mother Margaret. 

I have a Victor safety bicycle which I brought with 
me, and I enjoy riding in this lovely weather so much. 

This whole city is a perfect bower of roses, jasmine, 
and many other flowers. The magnolias are just be- 
ginning to bloom now. From your devoted reader, 
Frederica D. B . 

Winthrop, Wash. 

My Dear St. Nicholas : You have been given me 
every year for a long time, as a Christmas present, and 
I am very fond of you. 

Not long ago we had a fire, and it burned up all my 
beautiful books. I had a great many of them. In one 
of your numbers there was a letter from some one in 
Virginia, I think, who told the story of Captain Sam 
Dewey, how he cut off the figurehead of the ship " Con- 
stitution" many years ago. My mother has a portrait 
of Captain Dewey, and he is very handsome. My mother 
thinks he must have been, when painted, about thirty years 
old. My aunt has a facsimile of the famous diamond, too ; 
it is made of glass, and is as the diamond was uncut. 

I am fourteen years old, and live on a ranch on the 
banks of Methow River; it is a very beautiful river, 
and we have fine hunting — deer, bears, goats, sheep, 
coyotes, small game, birds, and fishing. 

We had the largest store in the valley, but it was 
burned down ; now we have the post-office. 

I have a beautiful Indian pony, and I ride him every 
day. His name is " Goat," and he is very gentle, and I 
am very fond of him. So good-by for this time. 

I am your constant reader, Anna F. B. G . 

We thank the young friends whose names follow for 
pleasant letters received from them: Jane T. B., Robert 

B. B., Jr., Karl K. B., Sheila B., Mary N. McD., Lucy 
L. V., Edith G. V. J., Melvil W., Lorraine R., S. F. W., 
Daisy B., Mary St. John W., Virginia S., Edith C, Clif- 
ford C, Robert T. R., Halbert M. S., Rose Bell G., L. 
H. K, Margaret C. P., E. V. B., Alice E. T., Ruth W. 

C, May I., May W., Fanny G. T„ May W. and Vir- 
ginia F., and Leslie A. F. 


Connected Rhomboids. I. i. Mease. 2. Hinge. 3. Tarry. 

4. Pesos. 5. Tenor. II. 1. Smalt. 2. Ideal. 3. Dames. 4. Lines. 

5. Stair. III. 1. Rowen. 2. Raved. 3. Newer. 4. Relay. 5. Leper. 
IV. 1. Ratel. 2. Tomes. 3. Dimes. 4. Rural. 5. Remit. 

Numerical Enigma. "They well may fear fate who have any 
infirmity of purpose or aim ; but the man that rests on what he is has 
a destiny." 

Pi. I have closed my books and hidden my slate, 

And thrown my satchel across the gate. 
My school is out for a season of rest, 
And now for the school-mom I love the best. 

My school-room lies on the meadow wide, 
Where under the clover the sunbeams hide, 
Where the long vines cling to the mossy bars, 
And the daisies twinkle like fallen stars. 


. Bass. 2. Area. 

1. Sore. 
Seat. 4. 

2. Oral. 


4. Ella. II. 


Word-building. I. A, an, ran, nard, 
treading, retarding. II. I, in, gin, gain, 
tramping, ptarmigan. 

Novel Hour-glass. Centrals, autograph: from 1 to 2, edges; 
3 to 4, legal. Cross-words: 1. rat. 2. flute. 3. extol. 4. doe. 5, g. 
6. are. 7. leads. 8. happy. 9. shy. 

Diamonds. I. 1. S. 2. Pat. 3. Pours. 4. Saurian. 
6. Sad. 7. N. II. 1. P. 2. Are. 3. Amort. 4. Program. 
6. Tar. 7. M. III. 1. A. 2. Ape. 3. Anona. 4. Apostil. 
6. Air. 7. L. 

A British Jack. From 1 to 6, drugget; 2 to 7, gauntlet ; 3 to 8, 
rangers; 1 to 3, dangler; 4 to 5, grating; 6 to 8, turtles; 1 to 8, 
ditties; 6 to 3, tattler. 

Zigzag. " The Laughing Philosopher." Cross-words: 1. Thor. 
2. tHud. 3. crEw. 4. fueL. 5. grAb. 6. hUge. 7. Gulp. 8. cHat. 
9. emit. 10. plaN. 11. siGn. 12 uPon. 13. Hilt. 14. mild. 15. caLk. 
16. argO. 17. caSk. 18. fOol. 19. Plum. 20. cHum. 21. grEw. 
22. beaR. 

drain, daring, darting, 
grain, rating, prating. 

5. Triad. 
5. Error. 
5. Enter. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the May Number were received, before May 15th, from Everett M. Hawley — G. B. Dyer — 
Josephine Sherwood — Ida Carleton Thallon — " The McG.'s " — Helen C. McCleary — Alice Mildred Blanke and Co. — Jo and I — A. H. 
R. and M. G. R. — Rosalie Bloomingdale — A., H., and R. — E. M. G. — Mama and Jamie — Gail Raymond — " Maine and Minnesota" — 
Paul Reese — C. W. Brown — L. O. E. — Jessie Chapman — " Uncle Mung" — " Leather-stocking " — Arthur Barnard — S. O. Hawkins — 
Blanche and Fred — Maud and Dudley Banks — " Suse." 

Answers to Puzzles in the May Number were received, before May 15th, from Jack and Emma Schmitt, 1 — "Broncho 
Harry," 1 — Ernest W. Tyler, 1 — Annie C. Gregory, 1 — Florence B. Barrett, 1 — Geo. McCloskey, 1 — John Merchant, I- — Helen 
Rogers, 4— S. A. G., 1— Mary B. Lewis, 1 — Edward N. Teall, 1— Jennie H. Wiles, 1 — Hilda A. Weber, 1— Richard V. Pell, 1 — 
" The Peterkins," 5 — Henry Caingues, 1 — Maude E. Palmer, 7 — Mabel E. A., 1 — Philip P. Taylor, 1 — Virginia J. Smith, 2 — Florence 
Smith. 1 — E. M. B., 1 — Helen Patten, 5 — Edith H. Smith, 1 — Aimee M. Riidiger, 1 — Florence Scriven, 1 — I. C. N., 1 — Mary S. 
Dutcher, 1 — Alfred M. Sedden, 1 — Annie Riley, 1 — "Old Riddler," 1 — Maurice Tennant, 1 — Edith Goldsmith, 1 — L. H. K., 1 — 
John M. Anderson, 1 — Vincent Beede, 3 — Welford P. Saroni, j — Geo. S. Seymour, 3 — "Florence," 1 — Elizabeth McConnell, 1 — 
Melville Hunnewell, 2 — M. J. Philbin, 3 — Anna M. Granger, 1 — , Andover, Mass., 1 — Hubert L. Bingay, 7 — Isabelle R. Mc- 

Curdy, 2 — " The Wise Five," 7 — Howard S. Simpson, 2 — Bessie R. Crocker, 6 — Elinor Barras, 2 — " Cam and Reagh," 6 — G. I. and 
M- M. L, 4— "Three Blind Mice," 4 — Laura M. Zinser, 4 — " We Girls," 5 — Horace E. H., 1— Arendt, 1. 



The problem is to change one given word to another 
given word, by altering one letter at a time, each altera- 
tion making a new word, the number of letters being al- 
ways the same, and the letters remaining always in the 
same order. Example : Change lamp to fire in four 
moves. Answer : lamp, lame, fame, fare, fire. 

In the accompanying picture, change GOAT to CART in 
four moves. Each change is shown in the illustration. 


Nl gishinn leub het stear dwil 

Slodfun reh epsalt raif; 
Het scatmile, prigchunea, skese 

Ot scalp dan sisk eht rai; 
Het trilbanil pyppo stunlaf ehr hade 

Stidam eht gripnine ganir, 
Dan sadd ehr civeo ot wells eht gons 

Hatt sugaut's heer ganai. 


My primals and finals each name a famous poet. 

Cross-words (of equal length) : I. The wooden lin- 
ing or panels on the sides of an apartment. 2. A popu- 
lar oration. 3. A cut. 4. A million millions. 5. Having 
the top too heavy for the lower part. 6. Examines. 7. A 
fabulous region in the interior of South America, sup- 
posed to abound in gold and precious stones. 8. The 
name given to the three days which immediately precede 
Ascension Day. "zuar." 


My central letters, reading downward, spell a portion 
of nearly every book. 

Cross-words: i. Specimens. 2. A spray. 3. To 
ask earnestly for. 4. In sufficient. 5. A hobby. 6. One 
of the numerous small eyes which make up the com- 
pound eyes of insects. 7. A supreme monarch. 

L. W. 





I . . 2 

io. To do away with. II. To find fault without good 
reason. 12. A wood-nymph. 13. Faithful to a cause or 
principle. 14. To draw off by degrees. 15. The invisi- 
ble world. 16. To pretend. 17. Ill-will or hatred 
toward another. L. w. 


I. A vowel. 2. A verb. 3. To garrison. 4. Staple. 
5. Pertaining to the morning. 6. One of the occupants 
of an asylum. 7* Painted with vermilion. 8. Familiar. 
9. Hinted. 10. To threaten. "xelis." 


^- y Upper Square (i to 2, etc.) : 
1. Affection. 2. Unobstructed. 3. 
To sell. 4. Extremities. 

Side Square (3 to 6, etc.) : I. Terminates. 2. Cleanly. 
3. To have courage. 4. To boil slowly. 

Lower Square (6 to 7, etc.): 1. To seethe. 2. A 
stiff hat. 3. Otherwise. 4. A period of time. From 
4 to 7, confusion. H. w. E. 


Seven-letter Diamond: i. A letter from princes. 
2. A kind of roof. 3. A masculine name. 4. Sea-rob- 
bers. 5. An ecclesiastical plate. 6. Those whom Kings- 
ley says "must work." J. A letter from princes. 

Included Five-letter Diamond: i. A letter from 
princes. 2. A masculine name. 3. Angry. 4. Con- 
sumed. 5. A letter from princes. 

Central Three-letter Square: i. A masculine 
name. 2. An animal. 3. The goddess of Revenge. 

Double Three-letter Square (shown inclosed in 
the diagram). Across: 1. An instrument of war. 
2. Destroyed. 3. A number. Downward : 1. A rodent. 
2. Consumed. 3. Adults. frank snelling. 

I. From i to 2, a wild animal ; from 1 to 3, freedom 
from occupation or business ; from 2 to 4, parted ; from 
3 to 4, developed ; from 5 to 6, to set forth ; from 5 to 7, 
talk intended to deceive ; from 6 to 8, quavered ; from 
7 to 8, lowered ; from I to 5, a noose ; from 2 to 6, a 
slight depression ; from 4 to 8, an action ; from 3 to 7, 
an Arabian ruler. B. B. 


All of the words described contain the same number 
of letters. When these are rightly guessed and placed 
one below another, in the order here given, the zigzag, be- 
ginning at the upper left-hand letter, will spell one of the 
chief public monuments of Paris. 

Cross-words : 1. A Spartan serf. 2. A punctua- 
tion mark. 3. Detested. 4. Temples. 5. To discipline. 
6. To pass rapidly and easily. 7. To welcome. 8. The 
religion of the Mohammedans. 9. To tincture deeply. 


All the words described contain the same number of 
letters. When rightly guessed, and placed one below 
another, in the order given, one of the rows of letters, 
reading downward, will spell the name of a French 

Cross-words: i. A place where instruments of war 
are deposited for safe-keeping. 2. Imagines. 3. Hasty 
departure. 4. A near relative. 5. To take shelter. 6. A 
fall of rain of short duration. 7. Something to make 
light of. 8. A protection. 9. Large scissors. 10. A 
margin. "ODD FISH." 


1. A fastener. 2. According to law. 3. Active. 4. An 
island in the Mediterranean. 5. Excuses. 

I. A garment. 2. An imaginary monster. 3. Seg- 
ments of circles. 4. Trial. " zuar" and M. H. N. 



Vol. XX. 


Copyright, 1893, by The Century Co. All rights reserved. 

No. 11. 


By Charles G. D. Roberts. 

A few years ago, in late summer, I was 
camping with a comrade, on the Little Squa- 
took Lake — known to the hunters and trap- 
pers of that wild region as Second Lake. On 
the high plateau of the Squatooks, dividing 
northern New Brunswick from Quebec, the 
noons are temperate and the nights chilly, even 
during the most fervid of the dog-days. 

One radiant moonlight night, when the 
windless little lake spread out before our camp 
like a shield of silver, and the woody moun- 
tains inclosing us seemed to hold their breath 
for delight, I was seized with an overwhelming 
impulse to launch the canoe and pole myself 
up the swift current of the river to the spacious 
waters of First, or Big Squatook, Lake. This 
lake is ten miles long and from two to four in 
breadth, and I was eager to paddle noiselessly 
out upon its wide, gleaming expanse. The dis- 
tance between the two lakes is about a mile and 
a half, with rapid water almost all the way ; and 
my fellow-camper, who had been amusing him- 
self laboriously all day, was too much in love 
with his pipe and blankets by the camp-fire 
to think of accompanying me. All my persua- 
sions were wasted upon him, so I went alone. 

Of course I had an excuse. I wanted to set 

night-lines for the great gray trout, or togue, 
which haunt the waters of Big Squatook Lake. 
A favorite feeding-ground of these fish is just 
where the water begins to shoal toward the 
lake's outlet. Strange as it may seem, the togue 
are never taken in Second Lake, or in any other 
of the Squatook chain. 

It was a weirdly beautiful journey up-stream. 
The narrow river, full of rapids, but so free from 
rocks in this part of its course that its voice sel- 
dom rises above a loud, purring whisper, was 
overhung by many ancient trees. Through the 
spaces between their tops fell the moonlight in 
sharp white patches. As the long slow thrusts 
of my pole forced the canoe stealthily upward 
against the current, the creeping panorama of 
the banks seemed full of elfish and noiseless 
life. White trunks slipped into shadow, and 
black stumps caught gleams of sudden radiance, 
till the strangeness of it all began to impress me 
more than its beauty, and I felt a curious and 
growing sense of danger. I even cast a long- 
ing thought backward toward the camp-fire's 
cheer and my lazier comrade ; and at length 
when, slipping out upon the open bosom 
of the lake, I put aside my pole and grasped 
my paddle, I drew a breath of distinct relief. 





It took but a few minutes to place my three 
ni-jbt-lines. This done, I paddled with slow 
strokes toward a big rock far out in the lake. 

The broad surface was as unrippled as a 
mirror, save where my paddle and the gliding 
prow disturbed it. When I floated motionless, 
and the canoe drifted softly beyond the petty 
turmoil of my paddle, it seemed as if I were 
hanging suspended in the center of a blue and 
starry sphere. The magic of the water so per- 
suaded me that presently I hauled up my canoe 
on the rock, took off my clothes, and swam far 
out into the liquid stillness. The water was 
cold, but of a life-giving freshness, and when I 
had dressed and resumed my paddle I felt full 
of spirit for the wild dash home to camp, 
through the purring rapids and the spectral 
woods. Little did I dream just how wild that 
dash was to be ! 

Where the river flows out of Big Squatook 
Lake the shores draw together like the sides 
of a funnel, there are no rocks to impede, and 
the strong, swift current is as level as the sandy 
floor beneath it. Just at the neck of the fun- 
nel, so to speak, the Indians had built a sort 
of fence of upright stakes, set close together 
in a double row. This fence at one time ex- 
tended all the way across save for a narrow 
gateway in the middle, where the Indians were 
accustomed to stand at certain seasons and 
spear the whitefish as they darted through. 
At the time of my visit, however, the barrier 
extended only to mid-channel, one half having 
been carried away, probably by logs, in the 
spring freshets. For this accident, doubtless 
very annoying to the Indians, I soon had every 
reason to be grateful. 

As I paddled noiselessly into the funnel, and 
began to feel the current gathering speed be- 
neath me, and noted again the confused, mysteri- 
ous glimmer and gloom of the forest into which 
I was drifting, I once more felt that unwonted 
sense of danger stealing over me. With a 
word of vexation I shook it off, and began to 
paddle fiercely. At the same instant, my eyes, 
grown keen and alert, detected something 
strange about the bit of Indian fence which I 
was presently to pass. It was surely very high 
and massive in its outer section ! I stayed my 
paddle, yet kept slipping quickly nearer. Then 

suddenly I arrested my progress with a few 
mighty backward strokes. Lying crouched flat 
along the tops of the stakes, its head low down, 
its eyes fixed upon me, was a huge panther. 

I was completely at a loss, and for a minute 
or two remained just where I was, backing 
water to resist the current, and trying to decide 
what was best to be done. As long as I kept 
to the open water, of course, I was quite safe ; 
but I did n't relish the idea of spending the 
night on the lake. I knew enough of the habits 
and characteristics of the panther to be aware 
the brute would keep his eye on me as long as 
I remained alone. But what I did n't know 
was how far a panther could jump. Could I 
safely paddle past that fence, by hugging the 
further shore ? I felt little inclined to test the 
question practically ; so I turned about and 
paddled out upon the lake. 

Then I drifted and shouted songs and stirred 
up the echoes, for a good round hour. I hoped, 
rather faintly, that the panther would follow me 
up the shore. This, in truth, he may have done ; 
but when I paddled back to the outlet, there he 
was awaiting me in exactly the same position as 
when I first discovered him. 

By this time I had persuaded myself that 
there was ample room for me to pass the bar- 
rier without coming in range of the animal's 
spring. I knew that close to the further shore 
the water was deep. When I was about thirty 
yards from the stakes, I put on speed, heading 
for just about the middle of the opening. My 
purpose was to let the 
panther fancy that I 
was coming within his 
range, and then to 
change my course at 
the last moment so sud- 
denly that he would not have time to alter his 
plan of attack. It is quite possible that this 
carefully planned scheme was unnecessary, and 
that I rated the brute's intelligence and fore- 
thought quite too high. But however that may 
be, I thought it safer not to take any risks 
with so cunning an adversary. 

The panther lay in the sharp black shadow 
of an overhanging maple, so that it was impos- 
sible for me to note his movements accurately; 
but just as an instinct warned me that he was 

i8 93 ] 


8o 5 

about to spring, I swerved smartly toward this strange one in which I now found myself 
him, and hurled the light canoe forward with straining every nerve. The current of the 
the mightiest strokes I was capable of. The Squatook varies greatly in speed, though no- 


manceuver was well executed, for just before I 
came fairly opposite the grim figure on the 
stake-tops, the panther sprang. 

Instinctively I threw myself forward, level 
with the cross-bars ; and in the same breath 
there came a snarl and a splash close beside 
me. The brute had miscalculated my speed, 
and got himself a ducking. I chuckled a little 
as I straightened up ; but the sigh of relief 
which I drew at the same time was profound 
in its sincerity. I had lamentably underesti- 
mated the reach of the panther's spring. He 
had alighted close to the water's edge, just 
where I imagined the canoe would be out of 
reach. I looked around again. He was climb- 
ing alertly out of the hated bath. Giving him- 
self one mighty shake, he started after me down 
along the bank, uttering a series of harsh and 
piercing screams. With a sweep of the paddle 
I darted across current, and placed almost the 
full breadth of the river between my wild enemy 
and myself. 

I have paddled many a canoe-race, but never 
one that my heart was so set upon winning as 

where is it otherwise than brisk. At first I 
gained rapidly on my pursuer ; but presently 
we reached a spot where the banks were com- 
paratively level and open ; and here the pan- 
ther caught up and kept abreast of me with 
ease. With a sudden sinking at the heart I 
called to mind a narrow gorge, a quarter of a 
mile ahead, from the sides of which several 
drooping trunks hung over the water. From 
one of these, I thought, the panther might 
easily reach me, running out and dropping into 
the canoe as I darted beneath. The idea was 
a blood-curdling one, and spurred me to more 
desperate effort ; but before we neared the per- 
ilous pass the banks grew so uneven and the 
underbrush so dense that my pursuer was much 
delayed, and consequently fell behind. The 
current quickening its speed at the same time, I 
was a good ten yards in the lead as my canoe 
slid through the gorge and out into the white 
moonlight of one of the wider reaches of the 

Here I slackened my pace, in order to recover 
my wind ; and the panther made up his lost 




ground. For the time, I was out of his reach, 
and all he could do was to scream savagely. This, 
I supposed, was to summon his mate to the no- 
ble hunting he had provided for her ; but to my 
inexpressible satisfaction, no mate came. The 
beauty and the weirdness of the moonlit woods 
were now quite lost upon me. I saw only that 
long, fierce, light-bounding figure which so in- 
exorably kept pace with me. 

To save my powers for some possible emer- 
gency, I resolved to content myself, for the 
time, with a very moderate degree of haste. 
The panther was in no way pressed to keep up 
with me. Suddenly, he darted forward at his 
utmost speed. For a moment this did not 
trouble me; but then I awoke to its possible 
meaning. He was planning, evidently, an am- 
buscade, and I must keep an eye upon him. 

The order of the chase was promptly reversed, 
and I set out at once in a desperate pursuit. 
The obstructed shores and the increasing current 
favored me, so that he found it hard to shake 
me off. For the next half mile I just managed 

Again I paused, not only to take breath, but 
to try and discover the brute's purpose in leav- 
ing me. All at once it flashed into my mind. 
Just before the river widens into Second Lake, 
there occurs a lively and somewhat broken 
rapid. As there was moonlight, and I knew 
the channels well, I had no dread of this rapid 
till suddenly I remembered three large boul- 
ders crossing the stream like stepping-stones. 

It was plain to me that this was the point 
my adversary was anxious to reach ahead of 
me. These boulders were so placed that he 
could easily spring from one to the other dry- 
shod, and his chance of intercepting me would 
be excellent. I almost lost courage. The 
best thing I could do under the circumstances 
was to save my strength to the utmost, so 
for a time I did little more than steer the canoe. 
When, at last, I rounded a turn and saw just 
ahead of me the white, thin-crested singing rip- 
ples of the rapid, I was not at all surprised to see 
also the panther, crouched on one of the rocks 
in mid-stream. 


to keep up with him. Then came another of 
those quieter reaches, and my pursued pursuer 
at last got out of sight. 

At this point the river was somewhat spread 
out, and the banks were low, so the moonlight 
showed me the channel quite clearly. I laid 

i8 9 3-] 



aside my paddle 
and took up the 
more trusty white 
spruce pole. With 
it I " snubbed " 
the light canoe 
firmly, letting her 
drop down the 
slope inch by 
inch, while I took 
a cool and thor- 
ough survey of 
the ripples and 

From the slop- 
ing shoulder of 
the rock lying 
nearest to the 
left-hand bank a 
strong cross-cur- 
rent took a slant 
sharply over to- 
ward the middle 
channel. I de- 
cided to stake my 
fate on the assist- 
ance of this cross- 
current. Gradu- 
ally I snubbed 
the canoe over to 
the left bank, and 
then gave her 
her head. The 
shores slipped 
past. The rocks, with that crouching sentinel on 
the center one, seemed to glide up-stream to meet 
me. I was almost in the passage — when with 
a superb bound the panther shot through 
the moonlight and lit upon the rock I 
was approaching! As he poised himself, 
gaining his balance with some difficulty 
on the narrow foothold, a stron 
lunge with my pole twisted 
the canoe into the swirl of 
that cross-current ; and ^ - 
with the next thrust I .-« 

slid like lightning down 
the middle channel, be- 
fore my adversary had 



more than got himself fairly turned around! 

With a shout of exultation I raced down the 

rest of the incline and into widening reaches, 

safe from pursuit. The panther, 

screaming angrily, followed me for 

a time ; but soon the receding 

shores placed such a distance 

between us that I 

ceased to regard him. 

Presently I bade him 

a final farewell and 

headed across the lake, 

for the spot where the 

camp-fire was waving 

me a ruddy welcome. 


By Charles G. Morton. 

ONKEY is, in 
Spanish, burro. 
In Texas, New 
Mexico, Colo- 
rado, and in Ari- 
zona, where the 
donkey is as well 
known as the 
horse, he is al- 
ways called by his 
Spanish name, on 
account of the 
fact that this section of the United States so re- 
cently belonged to the Mexicans, who, as every- 
body knows, talk that language. The Spaniards 
and Mexicans also apply the term " burro " 


because they are carefully bred and looked 
after. But the donkey of the West — the burro — 
has no " blood," no pedigree. Like Topsy, he 
"just growed." With ancestors no better off 
than himself, he has been kicked and cuffed and 
overworked all his life, and left to pick up his 
living as he could. In consequence he is stupid 
and lazy and stubborn and dwarfed. 

And yet, for all that, he is patient and long- 
suffering, will grow fat on rations that would 
scarcely keep a nobler animal from starvation, 
and is a most valuable aid to the progress of 
industry and civilization in the West. 

One night, shortly after my arrival at a mili- 
tary post in southwestern Colorado, I was 
awakened by a most terrific chorus of yells and 


to a stupid or ignorant person, just as English- 
speaking races use the word " donkey." 

The donkeys found in Kentucky and Mis- 
souri are probably the largest of their race, 

screams, apparently just under my window. 
With hair on end and wild visions of an Indian 
attack flitting through my mind, I frantically 
grasped my revolver and hastened to the win- 



dow. Drawing the curtain aside cautiously, I 
saw in the dim starlight the cause of the whole 
disturbance. It was a little group of burros 
penned up in the yard of an adjacent set of 
quarters. Disgusted, I sought my bed again. 
I discovered the next morning that these burros 
belonged to the officers' children, and had been 
" corraled " in the yard, so as to be at hand for 
use as saddle-animals on an excursion that had 
been planned for the next day. The braying 

wanted to make some noise. Rickety, clickety, 
rappety, tappety, click, clack, click ! they went, 
and then wound up the whole performance with 
a resounding bray! I had sighed to think of 
leaving my eastern home for the dreary quiet 
of that post, but now I longed for the peace of 
Broadway at noontime ! 

The next day the owners of those burros, 
after a prolonged and not altogether pleasant 
interview with the commanding officer, dis- 


was probably a protest against such confine- 
ment, and, if so, was most successful, for the 
commanding officer gave stringent orders that 
dooryards, even of vacant quarters, should not 
again be used for corrals. 

But the burros did n't seem to realize that 
they had won an important victory. Being 
turned loose to wander at their own sweet wills 
upon the parade-ground, they spent the next 
night in chasing one another up and down the 
board walk that surrounded it. There was 
plenty of good soft turf, where they could have 
had a half-mile track if necessary; but no — they 

posed of them at a greatly reduced rate to a 
neighboring ranchman. 

The burro has many peculiarities, which he 
shares with his half-brother, the mule. Bur- 
dened with a heavy pack, he may travel for 
hours patiently and without complaint. He 
approaches a little stream of sluggish water 
not more than an inch or two deep, or it may 
be a dry ravine which has w r ater only in the 
rainy season. He sets foot in it with the ut- 
most reluctance, and after having been fairly 
pulled in, he may deliberately lie down and 
refuse to go further. He knows how easy it 

The illustrations of this article are mainly from photographs by the W. H. Jackson Co., Denver, Colorado. 




makes him so sure-footed. He will carefully 
pick his way over mountain-trails that would 
be impassable to a horse and would make a 
man dizzy. I once saw a burro with a good- 
sized pack on his back try to pass along a trail 
that led through a narrow cleft in a rock. The 
cleft was too narrow, and, when half-way 
through, the pack stuck fast. Being unable 
to go forward, the burro backed, but was 
equally unsuccessful in getting out. He then 
tried his last resource — lying down. When he 
could n't do this, his groans and lamentations 
filled the air, and continued during the hour 
it took us to free him. I thought he must 
have been injured internally, but no sooner 
was he at liberty than he went a few yards for- 
ward on the trail and quietly began to graze ! 
But it is when kept behind his comrades, 
if only for a few moments, that his agony is 
greatest. Then such struggles to be free ! 
Such brays ! One wonders how so small an 
animal can make so great a noise. 

A burro dislikes exceedingly to have his ears 

is for his little feet to sink into the wet sand, touched by water, or by anything else, in fact. 

and the recollection that just such an innocent- Whether the long ears are sensitive, or he is 



looking place once upon a time proved to be sensitive about them, is hard to tell. How 

a quagmire still survives in his mind. expressive these same ears are ! When the 

This same instinct of self-preservation is what burro starts out with his pack in the morning, 

i8 93 ] 



they are up in the air, inclining a bit forward, 
in token of ambition. Something unusual ap- 
pears on the trail; straight forward they go, 
and close together, as much as to say, " What 
is that ? " His comrade behind approaches too 
near; back go 
the ears along 
the neck, to be 
perhaps by a 
fierce squeal 
and a vision 
of heels high 
in air, as the 
rear burro dis- 
covers his mis- 
take and hasti- 
ly falls back. 

When, what 
with thirst and 
the heat of 
the sun, long 
hours of travel 
and the dust 
of the trail, 
the morning's 
vigor has de- 
parted, then 
the ears hang 
wide apart, and flop wearily up and down. 
This signifies that you had better choose a 
camping-place, for if your animals choose one 
for you, all your persuasive powers will be 
wasted in trying to make them change their 

It is difficult to see what the people of the 
Rockies would do without the burro, " the sad- 
eyed philosopher of the West." He is a great 
pet with children, and seems to grow very fond 
of them. But he is used principally as a beast 
of burden. He boards himself, nibbling the 
grass that grows along the trail. 

On his patient back the lonely prospector 
ties blankets, pick, and frying-pan, while he 
himself plods behind with rifle and staff. The 
miner, far up in the mountains, uses him to 
carry ore in sacks to the smelter, and bring 


back in return flour, sugar, coffee, and even wa- 
ter. When the galleries and shafts of the mine 
are ready to be braced, the timbers are brought 
up in the same way, as are the lumber and fur- 
niture for the miner's house. 

And finally he brings the rails that are to 
connect the mine with civilization by an iron 
band. This is the last. Slowly and sadly the 
burro turns his back upon the work in whose 
completion he has been such an important 
helper, and picks his cautious way over the 
rugged trail that leads to fresh woods, if not 
to pastures new. 





& ttlE FOOL 



By Virginia Woodward Cloud. 

He was a merry, merry Fool so gay, 

She was a little Court Lady; 
He jangled his bells by night and by day, 

She sang in the green ways shady. 

^jM>'. X'^mmmffm 


She sang to the Queen with the sad, sad face, 
Who sighed, " Ah me ! " as she listened, 
" My crown for a day of such childhood's grace ! " 
And a tear in her dark eye glistened. 


And the grave King looked at his jester gay, 
And sighed, as he smiled at the chaffing, 
" My kingdom to be this Fool for a day, 
Whose life is a time for laughing ! " 

They met when the sun slipped down in the sea, 
The Fool and the little Court Lady, 

And a queer jester he, and a sorry singer she, 
As they walked in the green ways shady ; 



For " I would I were the King ! " this queer Fool 

said ; 
" I am tired of my jesting and my laughter!" 
And oh, to be the Queen ! " cried this weary little 

" And to wear a gorgeous robe forever after ! " 

Mms ' 

Then he bobbed a little bow, and a little curtsey she, 
As they passed down the green ways shady ; 

But " Alack ! " quoth the queer little Fool, quoth he ; 
And "Alas!" sighed the little Court Lady. 



{Jackson rark, Chicago, iSqj.) 

By Joel Stacy. 

"Full!" cried the gondolier! Swish/ — and they started. 
Great was the crowd, but they would not be parted ; 
So in they all scrambled — from Clara to Kitty — 
Little white citizens of the White City. 

Kg: ' ft.c.cot-Ui'kA-- 


By Erskine Wood. 

I left Portland on the third of July, 1892, 
to visit Chief Joseph, who is chief of the Nez 
Perce Indians. They live on the Collville 
Agency, two or three hundred miles north of 
the city of Spokane, in the State of Washington. 

I arrived at Davenport, Washington, on the 
fourth of July. There was no stage, so I had 
to stay all night. I left for Fort Spokane next 
day, arriving at about seven in the evening. 
As we did not start for Nespelim until the 
seventh, I went and visited Colonel Cook, 

commanding officer at the fort. I stayed all 
night, and next morning I helped the soldiers 
load cartridges at the magazine. That after- 
noon I watched the soldiers shooting volleys 
at the target range. We started for Nespelim 
in a wagon at three o'clock in the morning. 

The next day I went fishing in the morning, 
and in the afternoon I went up the creek again, 
fishing with Doctor Latham. He is doctor at 
the Indian agency. The next day I went down 
to Joseph's camp, where I stayed the rest of the 




time — about five months — alone with the In- 
dians. The doctor and the teamster returned 
to the agency. During my first day in the 
camp, I wrote a letter to my mother, and 
bought a beaded leather belt from one of the 
squaws. I stayed about camp most of the 
first day ; but in the afternoon I went fishing, 
and caught a nice string of trout. 

The Indian camp is usually in two or more 
long rows of tepees. Sometimes two or three 
families occupy one lodge. When they are 
hunting and drying meat for their winter sup- 
ply, several lodges are put together, making one 
big lodge about thirty feet long, in which are 
two or three fires instead of one. They say 
that it dries the meat better. 

When game gets scarce, camp is broken and 
moved to a different place. The men and boys 
catch the horses, and then the squaws have to 
put on the pack-saddles (made of bone and 
covered with untanned deer-hide) and pack 
them. The men sit around smoking and talk- 
ing. When all is ready, the different families set 
out, driving their spare horses and pack-horses 
in front of them. The men generally hunt in 
the early morning ; they get up at about two 
o'clock, take a vapor bath, get breakfast, and 
start to hunt at about three. Sometimes they 
hunt on horseback, and sometimes on foot. 
They come back at about ten or eleven o'clock, 
and if they have been on foot and have been 
successful, they take a horse and go and bring 
in the game. The meat is always divided. If 
Chief Joseph is there, he divides it ; and if he 
is not there, somebody is chosen to fill his place. 
They believe that if the heads or horns of the 
slain deer are left on the ground, the other deer 
feel insulted and will go away, and that would 

spoil the hunting in that neighborhood. So 
the heads and horns are hung up in trees. 
They think, too, that when anybody dies, his 
spirit hovers around the spot for several days 
afterward, and so they always move the lodge. 
I was sitting with Joseph in the tepee once, 
when a lizard crawled in. I discovered it, and 
showed it to Joseph. He was very solemn, and 
I asked him what was the matter. " A medi- 
cine-man sent it here to do me harm. You 
have very good eyes to discover the tricks of 
the medicine-men." I was going to throw it 
into the fire, but he stopped me, saying : " If 
you burn it, it will make the medicine-men 
angry. You must kill it some other way." 

The Indians' calendars are little square sticks 
of wood about eight inches long. Every day 
they file a little notch, and on Sunday a little 
hole is made. When any one dies, the notch is 
painted red or black. When they are home at 
Nespelim, they all meet out on the prairie on 
certain days, and have horse-racing. They 
run for about two miles. When they are on the 
homestretch, about a half a mile from the goal, 
a lot of men get behind them and fire pistols 
and whip the horses. 

I was out grouse-hunting with Niky Mowitz, 
my Indian companion, and we started a deer. 
We were near the camp, and he proposed to 
run around in front of the deer and head it for 
camp. So we started, and the way he got over 
those rocks was a wonder! If we had not had 
the dogs, we might have succeeded ; but as 
soon as they caught sight of the deer, they went 
after it like mad, and we did not see it again. 
Niky Mowitz is a nephew and adopted son of 
Chief Joseph ; his father was killed in the Nez 
Perce war of 1S77. In the fall hunt the boys 

[NOTE: The author of the sketch "A Boy's Visit to Chief Joseph" is Erskine Wood, a boy thirteen years 
old. He is an expert shot with the rifle, and he has brought down not only small game, but bear, 
wolves, and deer. A true woodsman, he is also a skilled archer and angler, having camped alone in 
the woods, and lived upon the game secured by shooting and fishing. 

When, two years or more ago, Chief Joseph, of the Nez Perce Indians, went to the national capital, 
he met Erskine, and invited the young hunter to visit his camp some summer. So in July, 1892, the 
boy started alone from Portland, Oregon, carrying his guns, bows, rods, and blanket, and made his 
own way to Chief Joseph's camp on the Nespelim River. 

The Indians received him hospitably, and he took part in their annual fall hunt. He was even 
adopted into the tribe by the Chief, and, according to their custom, received an Indian name, Ishem- 
iux-il-pilp, — " Red Moon." 

Chief Joseph's band is the remnant of the tribe which, under his leadership, fought the United States 
army so gallantly in 1877 ; they carried on a running fight of about eleven hundred miles in one summer. 

When Erskine visited him, the Chief was in every way most kind and hospitable to his young guest. 

C. E. S. WOOD.1 


Vol. XX.— 52. 817 




are not allowed to go grouse- or pheasant-hunt- 
ing without first getting permission of the chief 
in command. And it is never granted to them 
until the boys have driven the horses to water 
and counted them to see if any are missing. 

The game that the boys play most has to 
be played out in open country, where there are 
no sticks or underbrush. They get a little hoop, 
or some of them have a little iron ring, about 
two inches across. Then they range them- 
selves in rows, and one rolls the ring on the 
ground, and the others try to throw spears 
through it. The spears are straight sticks about 
three feet and a half long, with two or three 
little branches cut short at the end, to keep the 
spear from going clear through the ring. 

The Indians take "Turkish," or vapor, baths. 
They have a little house in the shape of a half 
globe, made of willow sticks, covered with sods 
and dirt until it is about a foot thick and per- 
fectly tight. A hole is dug in the house and 
filled with hot rocks. The Indians (usually 
about four) crowd in, and then one pours hot 
water on the hot rocks, making a lot of steam. 
They keep this up until one's back commences 
to burn, and then he gives a little yell, and 
somebody outside tilts up the door (a blanket), 
and they all come out and jump at once into 
the cold mountain-stream. This bath is taken 
just before going hunting, as they think that 
the deer cannot scent them after it. 

Only the boys indulge in wrestling. They 
fold their hands behind each other's backs, and 
try to throw each other by force, or by bend- 
ing the back backward. Tripping is unfair, 
in their opinion. 

The country is full of game, and we killed 
many deer and a cinnamon bear. In the even- 
ing, when they come home, they talk about 
the day's hunt, and what they saw and did. 
The one that killed the bear said that when he 
first saw the bear it was about fifteen yards off, 
and coming for him with open jaws, and growl- 
ing and roaring like everything. He fired and 
wounded it. It stopped and stood on its hind 
legs, roaring worse than ever. While this was 
going on, the Indian slipped around and shot 
it through the heart. I cut off the claws and 
made a necklace out of them. The next day 
they dug a hole nine feet in diameter and 

built a big fire in it, and piled rocks all over 
the fire to heat them. In the mean time the 
squaws had cut a lot of fir-boughs and brought 
the bear-meat. When the fire had burned 
down, and the rocks were red hot, all the coals 
and things that would smoke were raked out, and 
sticks laid across the hole (it was about three 
feet deep). Then the fir-boughs were dipped 
in water and laid over the sticks. And then 
meat was laid on, and then more fir-boughs, 
and then the fat (the fat between the hide and 
flesh of a bear is taken off whole) is laid on, 
and then more fir-boughs dipped and sprinkled 
with water. Then come two or three blankets, 
and, last of all, the whole thing is covered with 
earth until it is perfectly tight. After about 
two hours everything is removed, and the water 
that has been put on the boughs has steamed 
the meat thoroughly. Then Chief Joseph 
comes and cuts it up, and every family gets a 
portion. I helped the squaws cook some wild 
carrots once (they cook them just as they do the 
bear, except that they let them cook all night), 
and Joseph said that I must not do squaws' 
work : that a brave must hunt, fish, fight, and 
take care of the horses ; but a squaw must put 
up the tepees, cook, sew, make moccasins and 
clothes, tan the hides, and take care of the 
household goods. 

The boys take care of the horses. They 
catch them and drive them to and from their 
watering-places ; and the rest of the time they 
hunt with bows and arrows (the boys don't 
have guns), and fish and play games. The 
Indian dogs are fine grouse- and pheasant- 
hunters, scenting the game from a long dis- 
tance, and going and treeing them ; and they 
will stay there and bark until the men come. 
The dogs are exactly like coyotes, except that 
they are smaller. 

Many people have said that the Indian is 
lazy. In the summer he takes care of his 
horses, hunts enough to keep fresh meat, fishes, 
and plays games. But in the fall, when they 
are getting their winter meat, they get up regu- 
larly every morning at two o'clock and start to 
hunt. And if the Indian has been successful, 
as he usually is, he seldom gets home before 
five o'clock. And the next morning it is the 
same thing, while hoar-frost is all over the 

i8 9 3.j 




ground. In the Fall Hunt, I was out in the 
mountains with them seventy-five miles from 
Nespelim (where Joseph's camp was, and 
about one hundred and fifty miles from the 
agency), and it was about the 15th of No- 
vember; and if I had not gone home then, I 
would not have been able to go until spring. 
So Niky Mowitz brought me in to Nespelim, 
and we made the trip (seventy-six miles) in 
one day. We started at about eight o'clock in 
the morning, on our ponies. We had not been 

gone more than an hour when the dogs started 
a deer; we rode very fast, and tried to get a 
sight of it, but we could n't. 1 

Chief Joseph did not go to the mountains 
with us on this hunt, and we reached his tent 
in Nespelim at about ten o'clock. When we 
got to the tent, one of Joseph's squaws cooked 
us some supper; and on the third day after 
that, I went to Wilbur, a little town on the 
railroad, and from there to Portland, where 
Papa met me at the train. 


By W. J. Henderson. 

"This suits me down to the ground!" said 
Tom Trawley, enthusiastically. 

"Well, I don't believe you '11 think it 's 
so very fine after you 've been at it for a 
month," replied Johnny Slocum. " Anyhow, 
you would n't like it if you had to do it for a 

" That 's where you 're mistaken, Johnny," 
said Tom, earnestly ; "I'd like anything that I 
could do for my living. All I want is a start in 
life. I 've had my share of hard knocks for 
a boy, and I think it 's about time that luck 
turned and gave me a chance. Why, if I could 
go out there on that ocean every day and 
catch enough of these to make a living and 
save a little, I 'd be happy, I tell you ! " 

Tom held up the splendid weakfish he was 
carrying along the beach, and looked at it 
admiringly. Johnny was carrying one also, but 
he regarded it with a grave lack of interest. 

" I don't think much of 'em," he said; "but 
you 're easily pleased, Tom." 

" Nonsense ! " exclaimed Tom. " Why, just 
think, Johnny — what sort of a fix was I in when 
your father met me on that pier in New York ? 

I had lost my father and mother, and I had n't 
a relative, a friend, or a red cent. There I was 
a-wandering around the North River front, 
wondering whether I could n't get a job to 
go to sea as a cabin-boy, or something of that 
sort. I saw a man cleaning fish on the deck 
of a sloop, and I wondered whether I could n't 
do that; and just then the man put down his 
knife and came ashore. I don't know what 
made him stop, but he did, and he says to me, 
' Do you want anything, sonny ? ' And I up 
and told him I wanted some work to do, to 
keep from starving. And he took me aboard 
the sloop, and told me I must n't think of going 
to sea, and that I must come down here and 
fish a bit, and look around before I went 
to work — and — and — Johnny, you know all 
about it, as well as I do — how good your 
father was to me. And now you say I 'm 
easy to please ! But I suppose you never were 
really hungry, old fellow." 

" Never really hungry ? And you 've seen me 
eat cakes ! " And Johnny broke into a hearty 
laugh, which drove the serious look from Tom's 
face and caused him to laugh, too. 



" But after all, Johnny," he said presently, 
" I wish I could go to work." 

"At what?" 

"Anything — fishing preferred. I tell you I 
like it. I like the sport, and I like to be out 
there on the sea, especially since you and your 
father have taught me so much about sailing a 

" I see," said Johnny ; " you '11 be sailing a 
sloop of your own some day, and taking your 
own fish to market." 

"Oh, of course. It looks like it now, does n't 
it?" said Tom, with a comical expression. 

Nevertheless, that night, as they were seated 
at supper, Johnny began to tell his father what 
Tom had said. Henry Slocum listened for a 
few minutes and then said : 

" Tom, that 's a good idea." 

" But how am I going to manage it ? " asked 

"Well, I '11 tell you," replied Mr. Slocum. 
"You know the old dory that I picked up 
adrift last spring, Johnny ? " 

" Yes, Father." 

" Well, she 's lying out behind the ice-house. 
She 's in good condition, except that she needs 
calking and a pair of oars. Now, Tom, I '11 
lend you enough money to buy the oars and 
the stuff to calk her with, on condition that 
you take Johnny into partnership with you, and 
I '11 give the use of the boat free as Johnny's 
share of the capital." 

"But I 'm not giving anything at all; it 
is n't fair to you and Johnny," said Tom. 

" Oh, yes, it 's fair for everybody," answered 
Mr. Slocum. " You are giving the plan that 
you made up, and your services." 

" It only goes to show how good you are," 
mumbled Tom, with a flushed face. 

" That 's all right, Tom," said Mr. Slocum. 
" It does n't cost me anything to do this for 
you, and Johnny gets the benefit of whatever 
it amounts to." 

" Oh, does he ? " exclaimed Tom, " you 're 
not doing it for that, Mr. Slocum, but from 
just goodness to me." 

But no matter how or why it was done, the 
next day the old dory was formally turned over 
to the boys, and they went to work to calk 
her. They did not make as fine a job of it as 

they might have done had they been in less of 
a hurry to get to sea, but they made her tight 
and safe. Johnny secured enough paint to 
give her a coat, and she was left over night 
to dry. 

" I 've a fine old set of spars and a sprit- 
sail," said Johnny, " and when we get time 
we '11 fit them to her; but for the present I 
think we '11 have to get along with a ' white- 
ash breeze.' " 

" And why not ? Is n't a white-ash breeze 
enough for two strong men?" asked Tom, so 
seriously that he made Johnny laugh. 

"Men, eh? All right, if you feel so. And 
say, Tom, I 've a beauty of a lobster-pot that I 
have n't set lately. Let 's take that with us 
to-morrow, and see if we can't get a big fellow 
out on Turtle Back Reef." 

" Good ! " exclaimed Tom. 

The boys spent the evening in preparing 
their lines and other " fixings," as Tom called 
them, and they went to bed early so as to be up 
before daylight. A good sea-fisherman wishes 
always to be through the surf and on his way 
to the grounds before the sun peeps over the 
edge of the waters. 

" Turn out, Johnny; it 's seven bells in the 
mid-watch." That was what Tom said as soon 
as he woke up. 

" My ! You talk like an old salt," said Johnny, 
as he rolled out of bed. 

It was a glorious morning when the boys, 
having swallowed a hasty breakfast, started to 
push their patched-up dory down to the water's 
edge. The sky in the east was all scarlet and 
rose-color, and the sea was like a lake of molten 

" I tell you this is great ! " exclaimed Tom. 

The fisherman's son was an expert surfman, 
and Tom himself was by no means a green 
hand, for he had been out fishing almost every 
day, except Sundays, for five weeks. So it was 
no difficult task for them to get their dory out 
through the very gentle surf which was break- 
ing softly and lazily on the long outer bar that 

" Now, Tom, which way ? " 

" To Turtle Back Reef to set the lobster-pot, 
of course; and after that we will try our luck 
with the lines." 




So Johnny bent his back to the oars, and 
away they glided out to the eastward as if they 
were trying to hit the spot where the sun was 
just coming up, a great, luminous, orange- 

Billings's cottage between the two oaks on Sig- 
nal Mound to the southward." 

" That 's right," said Johnny; "let her go!" 
And Tom "let her go." Next the boys 

pulled away to the 
southward, and 
were soon in the 
middle of a fine 
school of bluefish. 
Their arms fairly 
ached with haul- 
ing in big fellows. 
"Why, Johnny!" 
cried Tom, "we 
will clear enough 
money out of to- 
day's haul to pay 
for the oars." 

" I believe we 
can ! " answer- 
ed Johnny. 
And the 
boys did 
it, too. 

"'you would n't like it if you had to do it for a living,' said johnny. 

i893- : 




The next day they had less luck, but they 
earned enough to pay for the calking. That 
night Tom, after considerable stumbling and 
hesitating, managed to say to Mr. Slocum : 

" I 'd like it, sir, if you 'd keep me here 
as a boarder now." 

" Why, what do you mean ? I have n't said 
anything about turning you out, have I ? " 

" No, sir; but you see — you see — well, I 'm 
earning enough to support myself, and I — I 
don't like to live on charity." 

Mr. Slocum meditated a few minutes, but 
although he was only a rude fisherman he 
understood well enough how Tom felt, and 
liked him all the better for it. 

"All right," he said; "you see Mrs. Slocum 
about the price of board, and that '11 suit me." 

So Tom made himself an independent youth 
at the rate of three dollars a week. But fishing 
is a very uncertain business, and Tom found 
that while he sometimes made five dollars in 
his week, sometimes he made only two dollars ; 
so he did not have much to spare. He 
puzzled over the problem constantly, but he 
did not see any way to get ahead. 

" Never mind," said Mr. Slocum, when Tom 
confided his troubles to him ; " this business of 
ours is uncertain, but it has its ups as well as 
its downs. Why, the first September gale 

may bring your fortune ashore, Tom. Who 
knows ? " 

Tom Trawley shook his head as he walked 
away ; for he was not much of a believer in 
luck, even when he had been what many would 
have called lucky. He was unflagging in his 
industry, however, and he always had enough 
money to pay his board, though he did not 
have any but his rough suit for Sunday. The 
summer was drawing to a close, and the weather 
was hot and dry. The boys were as brown as 
berries, and their muscles were like hard rubber. 
Tom had never felt so well in his life ; and one 
morning, as they were going out through the 
surf, he exclaimed : 

" I suppose it 's foolish for me to say so, but 
I believe somehow that we 're going to strike 
luck to-day." 

"Well, I don't know that there 's anything to 
complain of. We 've been doing well enough." 

" Oh, I mean something big ! " 

Less than an hour later, Tom's prediction was 
verified in a strange way. The heavy line 
which the boys kept over the side for big fish 
tightened, and they hauled it in — or perhaps it 
would be nearer the truth to say that they tried 
to haul it in. 

" Goodness ! " exclaimed Tom, " I must have 
the whole reef on the end of this line ! " 



" No! it 's a fish! " cried Johnny; "I can feel 
it jerk." 

" Maybe it 's a porpoise ! " gasped Tom. 

'• Hullo ! The line 's broken ! " 

" No! It 's the fish — it 's coming up — it 's 
coming right at the boat ! " 

"Oh! Look!" 

" Whew !— it 's a shark ! " 

" A big shark ! " 

" Hit him, Johnny ! " 

" Where 's the boat-hook ? " 

" Look out ! He '11 upset us ! " 

The maddened shark, coming up just beside 
the boat, looked terrible, and thrashed about 
in a most alarming way. But when Johnny 
drove one of the oars into its open mouth, the 
great fish turned, threw up its tail, and striking 
the water fiercely, causing a loud report, it 
turned and disappeared, taking the heavy hook 
and line with it. 

The two boys dropped upon the seats in 
their dory, and looked at each other in silence 
and with serious faces, while they panted after 
their exertions. 

Finally Johnny began to laugh. 

" I don't see anything funny," said Tom. 

"You said we were going to strike something 


big, Tom; and we struck something just a little 
too big!" 

Tom smiled, and said : 

" Let 's get back to business. We have n't 
set the lobster-pot to-day yet." 

" No, that 's so." 

" What do you say to putting it on the Bass 
Rocks ? We have n't had much luck with it on 
Turtle Back lately." 

"It 's a long pull out to Bass Rocks." 

"Well, we can take turns." 

"All right; here goes." 

The Bass Rocks were seven miles offshore, 
and were buried at a depth of twelve fathoms. 
They were a famous feeding-ground for lobsters. 

The boys beguiled the time with conver- 
sation as they rowed out. Suddenly Tom 
stopped in the middle of a sentence and ex- 
claimed : 

" Hullo ! " 

" What 's the matter now ? " asked Johnny. 

"You 're a fine fisherman!" said Tom; "the 
south wind has dropped right out." 

" So it has," said Johnny; " and the western 
sky says we 're going to have a squall." 

" Yes, and it 's going to be a stiff one, too." 

" Well, we can stand it, I guess, in this boat." 


i8 93 .] 



If the boys had been older seamen, they 
would have felt more uneasiness, for the scene 
was one to bring anxiety to an exjjerienced 
man. The southerly breeze had, indeed, ceased 
to blow, leaving the air still, heavy, and oppres- 
sive. The sea, which a short time before had 
been dotted with tiny whitecaps, now ran 
under the boat in long, undulating folds of dark, 
oily blue. Away in the northwest over the 
land, which was now only a low, faint line to 

" Well, we 've got the lobster-pot aboard," 
said Tom ; " and that and an oar will make a 
fine drag." 

" That 's so. Let 's fix it right away." 
They got the lobster-pot over the bow, and 
made its buoy-line fast to the painter. Then 
they lashed one of the oars to it, and, returning 
to the stern, awaited the squall. It was not long 
coming. Soon they heard a faint, moaning 
sound in the northwest, followed by a low 



the boys' eyes, was a heavy, black cloud, which 
was rising and spreading very fast. Its upper 
edge was fringed with ragged patches of ashen- 
gray vapor, which appeared to roll over and 
over as they advanced with alarming rapidity. 
From the lower edge of the cloud hung what 
looked like a curtain of thin bluish mist, and 
through this occasional flashes of lightning 
could be seen. 

" It 's going to be a great blow," said Johnny. 
" but I think the wind is ahead of the rain, so 
it won't last long." 

" Do you think you can keep her head to 
the seas when it gets to blowing ? " asked Tom. 

" I don't know ; but it '11 be safer to make 
a drag and let her ride to it." 

hissing. The sea in that direction became all 
white, and the patches of gray vapor swept over 
their heads at a terrific speed. The next mo- 
ment the wind struck the dory, and low as she 
was on the water, it heeled her over so that the 
boys instinctively seized the gunwale. Then 
the dory swung round behind her drag and 
pointed her nose to windward, and the boys 
breathed more freely. The wind shrieked like 
scores of steam-whistles, and the sea rose with 
frightful rapidity. The long oily folds were 
quickly torn into ragged, foaming ridges, over 
which the boat leaped and plunged in mad 
dizziness. Tom had been out in choppy 
weather, but never in anything like this; and 
sometimes as the dory dived into the hollows 




he held his breath, expecting that she would go 
under. But the drag sturdily kept her head 
to the waves, and a dory will ride out even a 
bad gale, if you let her alone. 

The squall raged for nearly an hour, and the 
rain poured in torrents. The boys were soaked 
to the skin, and were compelled to bail out 
their boat to keep her from becoming too heavy 
with her load of rain. 

But at the end of two hours, they saw, to 
their relief, a white light spreading along the 
sea ahead of them. 

" A sail ! " he cried ; " we are safe ! " 
Looking in the direction in which Johnny 
pointed, Tom saw a schooner under a double- 
reefed mainsail and jib. 

" She 's coming this way ! " he cried. 
"Yes — no; she 's going about!" 
" No ; there she goes about again." 
" Now she 's all in the wind." 
" There must be something wrong, or else 
she would n't twist about so wildly." 

" Wait; let us see what she will do next." 
The schooner was sailing in a most remark- 


"The squall 's breaking!" shouted Johnny 
into Tom's ear. 

" I wonder where we are," cried Tom. 

" That 's hard to tell," replied Johnny ; " we 
must have drifted a long way." 

There was nothing to do but to wait till the 
squall had passed. The sky became brighter in 
the northwest and soon the black clouds fled to 
the southeastward, and the wind fell to a gentle 
westerly breeze. The dory was far out of sight 
of land, and was still tumbling about on a very 
rough sea. Johnny looked anxiously all around 
the horizon. 

able manner, and the boys watched her with 
puzzled faces. 

" I know what 's the matter ! " cried Tom, 
suddenly ; " there 's no one steering her. She 's 
deserted ! " 

An abandoned vessel ! The very thought 
was full of gloomy suggestion. Here was a 
genuine mystery of the sea. Whence had she 
come ? Whither had she been going ? Where 
were those who had left port in her ? 

" Johnny," said Tom, suddenly, " I have an 

" What is it ? " 

I8 93 .] 



"We can't go drifting around out here in 
this dory. Night will come on before we can 
get back to shore, and we may be run down 
and drowned." 

" That 's so," said Johnny. 

'• Then let us board that schooner." 

" What ! Board a deserted vessel ? " 

" Certainly. Let us board her and sail her 
to the harbor inside the point." 

" Do you think we can do it ? " 

" I don't know why not. She has sails set — 
not enough for fair weather, but enough to 
keep her going ; and we 're good enough 
sailors to steer her." 

"Let's try it!" exclaimed Johnny. 

Working with a will, the two boys soon had 
their drag aboard and their oars once more in 
the rowlocks. The sea was still very rough, and 
the wind was freshening up from the south- 

The queer movements of the .schooner taxed 
the ingenuity of the boys, but finally they drew 
near to her, and watching for a good oppor- 
tunity, when she was shaking in the wind, they 
dashed alongside and Tom sprang into the lee 
main-chains with the dory's painter. Johnny 
was soon aboard, and the dory was made fast 
astern. The boys then turned to survey the 
deck. It was evident that the schooner had 
been through a rough experience. Her sheets 
and halyards were all uncoiled, and were stream- 
ing along the deck in a mass of confused lines. 

" Oh, look here !" cried Tom, as he bent over 
an object in the lee scuppers. 

" What is it ? " asked Johnny, picking his 
way across the rolling deck. 

" A man's coat ! " exclaimed Tom. 

" Do you suppose the man fell overboard?" 

" Yes — or escaped with the rest of the crew." 

" Why, of course," said Johnny. " She has 
no boat here ; her crew must have escaped 
in it." 

" But escaped from what ? The schooner 
seems to be in good condition." 

" Maybe she 's sinking ! " 

" She does n't seem to be settling very fast," 
declared Tom, very coolly ; " anyhow, I mean 
to go below and see what things look like down 

" Go below ? " exclaimed Johnny. 

" Yes, why not ? Maybe there 's something 
to eat down there." 

"Yes; and maybe this is all a trick and the 
crew is down there hiding and just waiting — " 

"Don't be silly! The crew would n't hurt 
us. There are n't any pirates around this part 
of the world." 

So saying, Tom started for the companion- 
way leading to die cabin. Johnny followed with 
evident reluctance. Cautiously Tom picked 
his way down the steps, trying in vain to peer 
into the darkness below. 

" Black as ink down there," he muttered. 

" Let 's go back," said Johnny ; " I heard a 

" Nonsense. It 's only the creaking of the 
schooner's timbers." 

He pressed forward, and in a few moments 
stood in the cabin. Attempting to move ahead, 
he stumbled against a pile of something soft. 

" What 's this ? Why, the whole floor is 
covered with things!" 

"Tom," exclaimed Johnny, " that time it was 
a groan!" 

" You 're right," said Tom, " there 's some- 
body aboard here, sick or hurt." 

He advanced, stumbling over the things on 
the floor, and called out : " Who is here ? " 

Out of the middle of a pile of canvas and 
clothing a strange figure lifted its head and 
shoulders. The boys started back as the figure 
spoke: "Ahoy thar! What ship be ye, and 
w'ar bound ? " 

" We 're two fishermen," answered Tom, 
" blown offshore in the squall ; and seeing this 
deserted schooner, we boarded her." 

" Werry proper, werry proper! 'Cos w'y? 
Practically, the ' Mary Ann Gumby,' o' Port- 
land, are deserted, seein' as how thar ain't 
nobody aboard 'cept me, an' I 'm a wrack 

" Are you sick ? " asked Tom. 

" I ain't wot ye might call sick, an' I sar- 
tainly ain't wot ye would stigmatize as wal. 
My ankle are sprained so bad I can't stand up." 

" Why, how did that happen, and why are 
you here alone ? " 

" Easy 'nough, as you might say. Help me 
over to one o' them lockers an' I '11 tell you." 

The boys stooped, raised the sailor in their 




arms, and carried him with great care across the " Wot was ye goin' to do aboard this 'ere 
cabin. schooner ? " 

" This 'ere schooner are bound from Phila- " We meant to sail her into the harbor, six 
delphy to Portland, in ballast. That thar squall miles above our village," said Johnny, 
knocked this 
wessel onto 
her beam- 
ends, an' at 
the same time 
throwed me 
down that 'ere 
hatchway an' 
made me a 
wrack. The 
rest o' the 
crew, includ- 
in' the cap'n, 
got a-skeert, 
thinkin' the 
ballast had 
shifted an' the 
schooner war 
goin' to sink; 
an' they tuk 

tlie DOat an <» OUT OF THE middle of a pile of canvas a strange figure lifted its head.' 

rowed away, 

not stoppin' to inquire whether old Hiram 
Huggins war alive or dead — which the same I 
are half-way atween 'em. An' that are the whole 
o' my story." 

" Then the first thing for us to do is to bind 
up your ankle," said Tom. " Is there any ice 

" There are a little in the ice-box, I guess." 

Tom, following old Hiram's directions, found 
the ice-box, and soon had some cracked ice 
bound in a towel around the injured ankle. 

" That '11 ache a good deal at first," said 
Tom, '■ but it '11 take the inflammation out." 

" Where did you learn that 'ere trick ? " 
asked Hiram. 

" From my father," said Tom. 

" Is he a fisherman ? " asked Hiram. 

" He 's not living," said Tom ; '■ nor my 
mother either." 

" I 'm truly sorry fur ye," said Hiram. 
'•' It 's hard to fight the world alone ; but 
you 've got your start in life to-day, if ye 
know how to use it." 

"How do you mean?" asked Tom. 

"An' so ye shall; an' old Hi Huggins '11 
show ye how to do 't. All ye got to do is to 
get me on deck an' fix me comf 'table w'ar I kin 
give ye orders. Do ye know anythin' about 

" We 've both had a good deal of practice on 
my father's sloop," said Johnny. 

" Good ! Did ye ever hear o' salwage ? " 

" Salvage?" 

" Yas, money paid fur savin' a wessel from 
wrack. Now, ef you two boys sails this 'ere 
schooner into port, ye '11 be intitled to salwage, 
an' Hi Huggins '11 testify to 't." 

" But you '11 be entitled to just as much as 
we are." 

" Thar '11 be 'nough fur us all. This 'ere 
schooner is new an' wallyable." 

Without further talk the boys set to work 
to carry old Hiram Huggins on deck. The 
schooner was rolling so that it was not an easy 
job ; but they accomplished it, and finally 
seated him near the wheel. 

" The seas must 'a' swep' her decks w'en she 
was on her beam-ends. I don't know how 

i8 93 ] 



she come to right hersel', but she did," said 
Hiram ; " fur w'ich the same I are truly thank- 
ful. Now let 's see. She are under double- 
reefed mains'l an' one heads'l. It are blowin' 
fresh, an' the sea are lumpy, an' we 're werry 
short-handed, our crew consistin' o' one wracked 
sailor an' two fish-boys off a sloop. We '11 let 
her canvas stay as it are. So one o' you take the 
w'eel an' let her go about nor'west till we sight 
the land, an' then we can tell w'ar we be." 

Tom took the wheel, and the sailor sat near 
and gave him hints as to the proper way to 
steer. Johnny went below, and, following direc- 
tions given him by Hiram, found some cold 
corned-beef, some bread and pickles, and some 
cheese. With these and some cold water from 
the scuttle-butt they appeased their hunger. 

About dark they could make out a white light 
ahead of the schooner, and Johnny cried out : 

up and on his way home to let his father and 
mother know that they were safe. Mr. Slocum 
returned with his boy to the schooner, and in- 
sisted on taking Hiram Huggins to his house 
till the sprained ankle was well. Mr. Brown, 
the village lawyer, in due time put in the claim 
for salvage, and to his great joy Tom found 
himself the possessor of $800. With this he 
bought and equipped a sloop and started a fish 
and oyster business. Such were his industry and 
economy that in five years he owned a large 
stand in the market of the neighboring city, 
and was fairly on the road to a comfortable 

" Do you remember what I said the day of 
the squall ? " Tom said to Johnny. " I said we 'd 
strike big luck, and we did. That day gave 
me my start in life." 


" Oh, I believe that 's the lighthouse at the 
entrance to the harbor ! " 

After sailing on for half an hour, Johnny's 
belief was found to be correct. In another 
hour and a half they were safe and at anchor. 
The next morning, before daybreak, Johnny was 

"What 's become of the 'Mary Ann Gumby ?'" 
" Why, there she is, at the wharf, loaded with 

fish," said Tom; '-'I 've bought a half interest 

in her." 

" Who owns the other half?" 

" Captain Hiram Huggins, of course." 



" Well, 
_ %^» what great or weighty 
plan are you making now ? I nearly broke the 
window trying to stop you, and you never even 
turned your head!" exclaimed Dora Eaton, 
as she caught up with her friend at the school 
gate, after the noon intermission. 

" We have n't time to talk it out now ; I '11 
come over when I 've finished my composition," 
answered Jean ; and side by side the two hur- 
ried in at the wide doorway, as the bell struck 
its warning. 

Three hours later, the friends were " ready to 
talk." Each had settled herself in one of the 
great "sleepy-hollow" chairs in Judge Eaton's 
library. On the table was a large plate of 
rosy "Baldwins" — always a necessary addition 
to their "talks." 

"Jean certainly is unusually solemn, " thought 
Dora, as she took a preliminary bite of her ap- 
ple, then looked at her friend with an inquiring 
« We u ? » 

Jean sat very erect. 

" I hope you won't be disgusted, Dora, but 
the truth is this : I 've been thinking it over, 

By Alice Balch Abbot. 

and I have about decided that girl-friendships 
are just — nonsense ! " 

A quick bounce brought Dora's reclining 
figure to an indignantly upright position. 

" I must say, Jean Young, that is a nice thing 
to tell to your best friend ! Perhaps you don't 
care much for me, but I never felt toward any 
girl as I feel toward you. Why, I have a queer 
sensation if I just catch a glimpse of your ul- 
ster coming around the corner ! Maybe it is 
' nonsense,' as you call it ; but it 's nonsense 
that makes me mind far more when you fail in 
class than when I do, and happier when you 
are 'number one' than when I am. There!" 
and Dora took a huge bite of apple to stop the 
choke fast rising in her throat. 

Jean's brown eyes grew wider and wider as 
the indignant words poured forth, till, at the 
last, something dimmed their brightness, and 
the room was very still for a moment after 
Dora paused. 

" I will never say it again, without making 
one exception," and Jean's voice was beautifully 
gentle. " I never dreamed you felt that way. 
It makes me dreadfully ashamed. I wish I 
could say the same to you ; but I am horridly 
selfish and always care more for my own honors 
than for any one else's ; but I can say honestly 
that I care more for you than for any of the 
others, if that is any comfort." 

"Thank you; it does make me feel better; 
but what else were you going to say ? " 

" I am half ashamed to say it now," began 
Jean, slowly ; " but I do wish girls could be 



friends in the same way that boys are. I am 
so tired of seeing them caress each other one 
day, and then say all sorts of mean things be- 
hind one another's backs the next; but re- 
member, Dora, I don't mean this is true of us, 
because I think we have been quite sensible." 

Dora was listening intently now. 

" Oh, I know what you mean ! Only this 
noon, Bessie Grey walked home with me and 
told the greatest story of how Annie Locke had 
disobeyed her father, buying candy without his 

"Yes, indeed," broke in Jean ; " and did n't I 
see her with her arm around Annie's waist, 
helping her eat that same candy ! " 

" And," continued Dora, " Helen Childs 
would n't speak to Lucy, because she had a 
mistake in her dictation, and Lucy marked it 
wrong. What else could she do, I 'd like to 
know ? And it was only yesterday I heard 
Helen call Lucy her ' dearest, bestest friend.' 
But do you really suppose that the boys are 
any better than we are ? " 

" Yes, I do," answered Jean. " Since I began 
thinking, I have watched Ned and Frank Dole. 
You know what chums they are. No one can 
make Ned say a word against Frank. Ned 
got that new edition of 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' 
for his birthday, last week. Mother had an 
errand for him to do, just after father gave it 
to him ; so he told Frank to take it home and 
look at it, but be sure to be back by five o'clock. 
I was in the library when Ned came in at six. 
I thought I would catch him at last, so I said 
very meekly, ' Did you want anything ? ' ' Only 
my new book ; never mind ! ' and off he went, 
not saying one word about Frank. When we 
came up from dinner, Frank was there ; so I 
walked slowly through the hall. ' I say/ said 
Ned, ' I thought you were to be here by five.' 
Then Frank's voice, ' Now, don't get excited, 
old boy ; Father sent me over to Dover, so I 
could n't get here.' ' All right,' said Ned ; and 
they went to talking about the pictures, without 
another word about the delay. I wonder how 
two girls would have acted." 

" Oh, I can tell you ! " said Dora. " One of 
them would have stormed to the whole family, 
when she did n't find the book, and then would 
have been as cool as a cucumber when it was 

brought back, and then they both would have 
been ' mad,' and would n't have spoken for 
two weeks ! " 

Jean laughed at Dora's scornful tone. 

" Not all girls, I 'm sure; but some would do 
just that, I am afraid," Jean admitted. 

" What made you think about it ? " asked 

" Hearing about 'John Halifax.' You know 
mother tells me grown-up stones, once in a 
while ; and I think I like this one more than 
all the others. It 's about a rich boy and a 
poor one. The rich one tells the story ; and 
they were friends — such friends, Dora! Of 
course they grew up, and it 's very interesting 
and exciting, too ; but they never have any 
quarrels." Jean stopped, with a far-away look 
in her brown eyes, as if listening once more to 
the tale of that matchless friendship. 

" Do you remember 'Tom Brown' and ' East' 
and 'Arthur' ? What splendid times they had ! " 
sighed Dora. 

" But David and Jonathan were the best of 
all. John Halifax and Phineas tried to be like 
those two," said Jean. 

Dora lifted a Bible from the table, turned 
the pages for a moment, then read slowly : 

" The soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of 
David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul." 

It was rath